Untouched
by AnetteS
Summary: She lost her faith. He had little to begin with. Now she is facing a chance to live, but without almost everything she was taught to rely on. Magic. A story of healing, love, and two people desperately in need of both. SS/HG. CONTINUED AFTER A HIATUS!
1. Prologue

**UNTOUCHED**

**a story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

This will be a story about healing and love. It is advisable to notice the rating. It is M for now, but it will become more detailed as the story progresses. I am in search of a Beta, so I beg for your patience if you notice mistakes.

**UPDATE Sept.7th****:** This has now been Betaed by the fabulous Tzee. I am a happy writer now!

**Disclaimer:**

This is Jo's world. I just play with it, and promise to take really good care of its occupants. No money, just sleepless nights.

Comments are much appreciated.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

His hand reaches absentmindedly for the scar. It has a tendency to itch with the change of weather, and the air smells like rain tonight. The leather on the armrest of his office sofa is tattered in places. He doesn't care.

He pulls out of the pensieve for the millionth time. It's Minerva's memories, again. She was the last one healed by the brave woman he had known and come to care for so deeply in the past year. The woman he searches for still, against all hopes, with only a few stubborn souls by his side.

She was taken in the midst of the chaos during the battle of Hogwarts, mere hours before the defeat of the Dark Lord. And yet, a year later, she is still missing.

Reaching up, away from his scar, he runs his fingers through the long black hair that falls into his eyes, closing them for a moment and rubbing his left temple. He feels a headache building. Damned sinuses; and his being a particularly developed kind.

A telltale creak makes him open his eyes and focus on the young blond haired boy peeking around from behind the door.

At the tender age of two and half, Teddy Lupin already shows remarkable wit and bravery, the former by managing to run away from his mother, and the latter by daring to come into the library that Severus had turned into his office months ago.

Luckily, the young marauder inherited neither his father's lycanthropy, nor his mother's metamorphagus nature, and could one day be a remarkable addition to the cunning house of Slytherin. Much to Remus's abhorrence of the idea, Severus could see one of his own as plainly as the wicked grin he now saw gracing the boy's face.

"Come inside Theodore, before your mother finds out you are walking the hallways at this time of night," he says, and the patter of the boy's feet is quick as he reaches him and climbs expertly onto the older man's lap.

"Hello uncle Sewwus," he says observing his scar intently.

"Ted, what have I told you about scanning my neck?"

His eyes are huge when he answers "That it's wude."

"_Rude,_say it correctly," Severus asks of the boy.

Teddy's little forehead sports a deep frown as he concentrates on the proper pronunciation.

"Rrr-ude," he finally says, and earns a nod from the older man.

"Now, why are you out of bed, and sneaking into the library, again, might I ask?"

"I want you to tell me a stowwy!" The boy exclaims excitedly. His concentration on the proper pronunciation of the damned letter can only go so far at his age.

"A story, is it?"

If anyone had told Severus Snape that, a year from now, he would be sitting calmly, holding any small boy, let alone the son of one Remus Lupin, in his lap as a dying fire crackled in the background, he would have thought them Imperio-ed, at best, and, at worst, simply out of their minds.

The boy swung his little legs over the armrest and laid his head on the strong chest of his father's friend, and lifted his expectant blue gaze to meet Snape's dark intensity.

Severus sighed in defeat. Yes, defeat. He had survived the Dark Lord, the disdain of the world, the fury and later remorse of the Order of the Phoenix, and managed to walk out of it all with doing what he set his mind to do. But recently, in the evenings, he had realized that more often than not, his goal to sip a glass of Ogden's Premium was being expertly thwarted by a little boy with a gnawing hunger for tales.

"Which one?"

"The one about Hermione!"

A sigh of a different kind escaped his lips now.

"Which one?"

"Umm…. When she escapes on a dragon," he says decidedly.

"Very well," he cleared his throat, "Once, there was a brave girl who thrived on saving creatures, both small and weak as well as big and dangerous, and her eyes shone with compassion unlike any other ever shone. Her mind knew the secrets of knowledge, and her heart understood the secrets of life. But her soul, it knew the secrets of both past and present, and it was with her soul that she spoke to the creatures lucky enough to cross her path…."

As Severus eased into the story, his mind reeled from the memories he was so intimately familiar with now. Memories of Hermione, graciously bestowed upon him, _them_, by the many who wished to contribute to their search. They had given up, one by one, as time dragged by, and no traces had been discovered, but had the mercy to leave their memories with him.

He breathed because of them now. And the tiny hope that she too was still breathing.

The heavy droop of the small head on his chest indicated that little Ted was fast asleep, just as he was approaching a vivid description of the dragon breaking out of Gringotts. He smiled. A secret, warm, genuine smile, reserved for the innocent boy sleeping soundly in his arms, a boy who, for some curious reason, loved him, and didn't question his past, his motives, or the weird scar on his neck. Well, he was rather intrigued by the scar, but not its origin.

Standing up slowly, he carried Teddy out of the library and down the long hallway of Grimauld Place to the room with a small bed adorned with silver and blue stars.

He laid the sleeping boy gently down, tucking him in carefully and caressing his forehead tenderly with his knuckles before he leaned down and brushed his lips over the trace of his hand.

"Good night my boy", he whispered.

He closed the door carefully, the doorknob clicking into place.

Turning around, he noticed Remus leaning on the doorframe of his and Dora's bedroom; two doors down from Teddy's room. The honey- blond man had a small smile on his face and a tender look in his eyes as he met the eyes of the man cloaked in black.

"Again?"

Severus nodded, trying to hide a smile that threatened to show itself. Although much more relaxed in the presence of others, Severus was still a man who didn't let his feelings openly show.

Remus sighed.

"Well, not much to do about it. We can't choose who loves us," the man said pointedly.

Severus rolled his eyes at the comment.

"Your son is adamant that I am his favourite uncle. I am sure it's that preposterous idea that makes him find me and make me tell him stories every night."

Remus chuckled. "My son is wise in seeing you with innocent eyes. He is teaching me more than I ever knew about the people around me. And I have to say it makes me happy he chose you for his favourite uncle."

"Do stop talking now," Severus brushed him off, but not without being betrayed by a small tug at the corners of his mouth.

"So… which one was it this evening?" Remus asks quietly.

"The story of Gringotts, as usual," Severus tells him, his tone guarded.

Remus is a man with sharp senses, and he has noticed the change in the man before him many months before today. He knows that Severus Snape's emotions for the woman they are trying to find go far beyond the call of duty, beyond that of mere friendship. He stands awestruck by the depth of feeling Severus is obviously trying to hide, curious as to what initiated it, but above all, wise enough to keep silent on the matter.

Only the three of them were left, after this past year, that were still engrossed in the search for the missing war heroine.

The others had long stopped believing she was alive. The day her hand on the Weasley family clock fell off signified the day Harry and Ron lost hope. That had been three months ago.

Each day the three of them hoped that it would be the day that they found some clue of her whereabouts. Each day they pray that it's not the day her body will be dumped on their doorstep, or someplace equally insignificant. But they refused to give up the search.

Remus bade goodnight to his new friend as Severus walked slowly back to the library, and shook his head as the door closed after the figure. He knew Severus was convinced the young woman was still alive. The Weasley clock only detected magic, and he was keen to believe that she was out there, somewhere, magically depleted perhaps, but alive. And they had to find her, if there was even the slightest chance of her survival.

So they kept looking.

* * *

><p>"Expelliarmus!"<p>

"Confringo!"

"Expulso!"

Severus ducks behind a rotting tree trunk as the fight that has continued for the better part of the last hour goes on.

He looks to his right and finds Remus behind an equally rotting tree trunk on the other side of the back yard, huddling over a bleeding Tonks. She gives him a weak thumbs up as her husband murmurs a series of healing spells. He is alone for the moment, going against three of his former associates, two of them, and this is where he finds his strength, are none other than the Carrows.

She is here. She must be.

After a year of searching, following false leads, turning the wider perimeter of the Kingdom on its head, they are facing the final three of Voldemort's merry fools.

He feels anger bubbling inside of him, and is on his feet again, shouting hexes at the three wizards.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Going soft Sevvy dear? And here I was, about to offer you a taste of the Mudblood," Alecto Carrow screeches, baring her rotten teeth. It feels like everything in this forsaken place is rotting. He shudders.

His shield is up, and he is mad with rage.

"Reducto!" he howls, closely followed by a strong "Sectumsempra!" and it hits its mark.

He turns just in time to notice the other Carrow, Amycus, charge at him with his wand raised in vengeance.

"Avada Kedavra!" he hears the shout, but ducks at the last moment and watches the curse hurling towards his already bleeding sister.

"Idiot," Severus mumbles as he finds unexpected calm in the moment.

He notices that Remus has left Tonks and joined him in the fight, and has the other man tied and stupefied against the wall.

Carrow's eye gleams with evil as he aims his wand at the unsuspecting auror, but Severus is quick and ruthless.

"Avada Kedavra," he grinds through his teeth and a strong blast of green light hits Amycus in the back.

It's another first. He has never fired the killing curse in the back of a wizard, holding for the final shreds of decency even in his darkest times. But now, he is at peace, watching Remus nod in thanks. He has saved a life, the life of his friend tonight, and the memory of the killing curse shot into a lowlife's back is not about to take away from his mission.

She is here. She is here… the thought is all consuming, and he tries to run, but his knees buckle.

"Easy there," Tonks's whisper reaches his ear as she lays a grateful hand on his shoulder. "The curse has left you weak. You cannot run."

"Hermione," he rasps.

She gives him a sad smile. "We have to make sure there are only three. Let us secure the perimeter first. Don't be a fool Severus."

He nods in acknowledgement. She is right, as usual. "Go. I have your back."

Severus watches the Aurors shooting spells around the dingy little house in the country that has popped up on the Wizzarding map for use of dark magic this evening. The roof is falling apart, the façade is crumbling, and the whole place looks oddly dark.

He sees Remus and Dora exchange a look, and motion for him to join them. He tries his legs again, and they shake, but carry him to them.

"Thank you my friend," Remus says as Severus comes to stand by him.

"All clear," Tonks says and joins them. The couple gives Severus a hopeful look.

He lifts his wand and casts a "Homenum revellio" in a wide arch over the house. They watch, holding their breath, and in a couple of moments, there in the air above the small shed, glows a faint blue light.

He runs, uncaring that his legs are weak and getting weaker by the moment.

Remus takes his arm and helps him ahead, as Tonks rushes past the men and hurls into the creaky wooden shed, not fit for pigs, let alone people.

"Stay out!" they hear Dora cry out, but it's too late, they are already inside and faced with a horrifying scene.

Hermione is tied to the wall, naked and dirty, her hair hanging over her face in a muddy tangled mess. Traces of blood and sweat cover her skin, and her legs are spread wide, her most intimate parts splayed in front of them. Her inner thighs are coated with the dark red of dry blood, and strands of hay cling to her calves.

The stench is sickening.

The wan halo of blue light is still hovering above her head, her eyes are closed; she is obviously unconscious.

"Merlin!" Remus exclaims, holding his hand over his mouth. He is going to be sick, and he doubles back a moment later. The sounds of his retching are the only thing filling the horrified silence as Severus and Dora exchange glances.

In a flash, he is beside her, and they are checking for spinal injuries. Finding none, they untie the rusty iron manacles and gently lower the still unconscious woman to the ground. Severus is quick and tears the cloak off his back with a well placed "Divesto", and they lay her on top of the dark wool. This is not a moment for emotions, and they slide into professional mode, performing diagnostic spells over her.

Remus is back, having evanesced his bile. With a guilty look in his eyes, he joins them.

"Sorry," he whispers.

He gets a nod from Severus and a comforting look from his wife.

After what seems like an eternity, they manage to conclude that she is, surprisingly, stable, and miraculously seems to be relatively unharmed. Physically. A big word. No broken bones, no internal damage. There will probably be lacerations found in her vagina in various stages of healing, but their diagnostic spells have not detected any bleeding.

Her mind will be a whole different issue. Her magic is, at the moment, non-existent, and it is not as though they didn't know, but still it's a serious blow.

"We better not wake her just yet, it is best to transport her to St. Mungo's unconscious," Dora says, and Remus nods.

Severus can't tear his eyes from the sight. She is alive, but the beasts have obviously treated her as a toy this past year, a rag doll in their dark games of dominance and exploits. She has been raped repeatedly at the least, and tortured by both magical and muggle means.

"Severus," Dora says quietly, but her intent is clear as she lays a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We have to get her to the hospital."

"Not like this," he croaks. "They can't see her like this."

Remus runs his hand through his hair and sighs. "Come Dora, it's not like the doctors will need to take evidence from her. She is, as much as it surprises me to say, unhurt physically, and my senses are warning me that there is death in here. We need to find it, whatever it is. I am sorry to say, but it's not animal death I detect, and the flesh has been rotting for a while, so it's not the damned creatures we left in the courtyard either."

Dora stands up and glances at Hermione and Snape. "Take care of our girl. We have her back now, that's what matters."

They walk to the end of the shack, each inspecting the hidden corners with their eyes and wands.

Severus is kneeling now, smoothing matted hair out of her face with long, gentle, fingers.

"How little I knew of you when we last saw each other," he whispers as he decides where to start. His wand now turned to her face, he whispers spell after spell and the grime, the dirt, the blood melt away, revealing her skin, stretched thinly over her bones. It's grey, almost translucent, the blue streaks of vein tissue clearly visible as it spreads in a web over her arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach… he takes special care to clean her where they soiled her the most, pulling from his memory a remedy for a dark spell he, and only he, sees the evidence of.

Dora missed it, for she could not have known. But the wolf sensed death, and he sensed right. Severus moves closer, his hand trembling as he pulls her knees apart and directs his wand at her vulva.

With another whisper, a fresh trail of dark blood leaks out of her still unconscious body.

His heart is heavy as his darkest fears are confirmed. She was with child, and they tortured her until she lost it, leaving her to expulse the unlucky creature by herself. She had to have been weak, as the blood still contains tissue.

He clears his mind and continues with his task, cleaning her and nursing her outer wounds. Surprisingly, there aren't many. Scars, new and old, healed on their own without magic testify of the length of her captivity. Cuts that are still recent enough to be healed by magic are quickly dealt with. He cleans her again and again, eviscerating the stench of months in captivity as best as he can without the help of a bath, and he finally moves to her hair.

He remembers the bushy mop he had to face for the first three years of her schooling, and how it turned into a smaller mess and more of a nest of ringlets in her fourth and fifth year. There were feeble attempts to rule the stubborn follicles with potions homemade and bought, and he was remembered of all the images that filled his pensieve this last year. Her hair was full of life, as she was. Stubborn, foolhardy, out of fashion and unique, the mop of hair a true representative of the head it kept warm.

He focused first on killing the lice. It was an insult to her, more than any other type of dirt he removed thus far from her skin, and there had been much of it. But to let her be infested with bugs… he shuddered, but his wand movements remained focused as his wrist circled over her head.

A few minutes later he lowers his wand. He has cleaned her hair to the best of his ability and wrapped her in his cloak. He is now holding her in his arms and cradling her to his chest.

"You have no idea what you have become to me. You will be well again, and I will be there for you, no matter what, my brave girl."

Remus and Tonks approach him, and he realizes it's hardly been ten minutes since they left him. Dora can't hide the surprise on her face as she lays her eyes on Hermione, now free of the evidence of her capture. He meets Remus's eyes, and they are sad. So sad.

"Severus, you need to know something…"he starts, but Dora meets his eyes and realizes.

"He knows," she whispers, and Severus nods.

"I… I cleaned her. I saw. You couldn't have known by looking at her, but I knew."

Remus clears his throat. "Severus, the bodies… they are still here."

He freezes in place, stopping the gentle rocking movements.

"Bodies?" More than one? Oh Hermione… "How many?" he asks.

Remus is lowering his head. "Three. Two were twins, so it's…."

"Two times." Dora finished his thoughts, and they are all now barely keeping their emotions at bay.

It is again Dora who calls them back to action.

"We should apparate now. I'll go first, alert the Healers at the Emergency ward. And the Auror department. I'm done here."

The men nod solemnly, as she spins in place and disappears a second later.

"We still have the Death Eater bound outside," Remus utters, his voice low and suggestive.

They are treading the fine line of reason and sanity by holding themselves back and not going out and killing the rapist in cold blood.

"It would give me immense pleasure," Severus starts "but he shall be kissed in Azkaban, and I do not wish to taint my soul any further."

"You are gracious, Severus, maybe more than me. If it were the night before the full moon, he would have already been dead."

"Remus, don't. It's a darkness you are not equipped to deal with. Trust me, you are better off not knowing," Severus says, and Remus lowers his eyes in guilt.

"I am sorry again, for you have been forced to kill to save me. I shall never be able to repay you for saving my life."

"Utter nonsense," Severus growls. "Have we not grown above such talk? Was it not you and your wife who found me and healed me after that blasted snake tore half of my neck out? Is it not your son who heals my soul every time he sits in my undeserving lap and demands I tell him a story? Am I not living under the same roof with your family, sharing meals and cleaning duties along with those obnoxious visits from the Potters and Weasleys?" he raises his eyes to meet the knowing blue ones "Are you not the only man who knows how deeply I have fallen for her?"

Remus nods, and puts a hand on Severus's shoulder. "Still, thank you, my friend."

"You are welcome," he replies. "We should apparate now. Take her, for I am still weak from casting the Unforgivable. I shall follow you."

Remus kneels and takes Hermione from Severus's arms, and they exchange a last, silent nod.

They are swirling and moments later met with a blast of noise, blinding lights and a hospital gurney as they appear at the entryway of St. Mungo's.

Remus lies Hermione down and the healers rush her inside, the three of them following closely behind.


	2. Waiting to Exhale

**UNTOUCHED**

**a story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>

This is Jo's world. I just play with it, and promise to take really good care of its occupants. No money, just sleepless nights. Comments are much appreciated.

**Author's note:**

My search for a Beta is still ongoing. If anyone here has a suggestion of a great one, leave me a comment on the story or PM me.

As some of you might have noticed, I tend to switch from general narrative to a particular character's perspective. I always try to make it clear who it is that I am writing about and I hope you don't find it too tedious. Although I proof read each chapter, sometimes the situation may become a bit blurry. Stay with me until that issue is resolved with the help of a patient Beta. Oh, did I mention I need a Beta? Really badly? Possibly one with a britpicking talent?

**Update: Oh the joys of having a Beta! **** And she felt really bad when she read this note! Awww… Anyways, this chapter has spent some time in her capable hands, and is a better read for it. Thank you Tzee!**

Thank you so much for all your comments. It is such an encouragement to receive support after the very first chapter I posted. I will try to update this story two to three times a week until school starts. Later… well, we'll play it by ear, I guess.

Drop a comment after you read this, would you? Pretty please? This fic will stay a bit dark for a couple of chapters more, and them gradually go lighter, as our Heroine heals. I'm diving into troubled waters, but hope that the ride will be a rewarding one in the end.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**Waiting to exhale**

"Nymphadora Tonks, you have to sit down and stay still," the healer said and was met with a look that would kill a lesser man. Fortunately, Healer Jones was a man in his eighties, and had known Dora since she was a little girl.

"Don't call me _that_," she spat through gritted teeth but sat down on the hospital bed with an exasperated sigh.

"First, it's _Lupin_. _Dora_ Lupin, if you would be so kind. And there is nothing wrong with me. I should be out there checking on…"

"Miss Granger, I know," the healer said unyieldingly. "But may I remind you that you are not a healer, and would thus be banned at the entrance? You would be more of a nuisance at this moment than a help, and I have to make sure you have been treated sufficiently well after that fight."

"Remus healed me! I was treated sufficiently well! Who gave you the idea that I would need to be checked on?"

The healer smiled. "Remus did."

She growled softly, but a small smile tugged at her lips nevertheless.

"The nerve of that man…" she mumbled as she let the healer run the diagnostic wand over her left shoulder.

Meanwhile, in the curiously unoccupied waiting room, Severus sat with his head in his hands, while Remus stood with his back propped up against the nearest wall next to the room Dora was being examined in.

"She is fine, you did a good job," Severus tried to comfort the obviously distressed man, lifting his eyes to Remus's worried gaze.

"I fear for her… I always fear. She is so often in the line of stray hexes, and it's…" Remus's words halt in his throat for a second, and there is a supportive tone in the shadowy eyes of his friend.

"I understand. I see you, you know. Both of you. It's… curious" Severus says calmly.

The definition of his marriage draws a smile onto Remus's face.

"Already throwing daggers at me? And here I thought we were making progress."

Severus shakes his head. The latent sarcasm in the werewolf's tone was nothing more than thinly veiled surprise, still, that out of all the men around him, it was Severus who had become his closest confidante.

"What? Declaring your marriage curious? I would consider it a compliment."

Remus's left eyebrow popped up and he felt the beginnings of a smile pulling at his face. He knows this trivial conversation is a farce for both of them, but he will make an effort. He must not worry about Dora now, she is receiving professional care, and Severus needs to focus on something other than Hermione.

"Explain, would you?" Remus pressed.

"First of all, you have made a conscious decision, as a couple, to invite me to live with you, in your home. That alone makes you a textbook example of curious behaviour, and it seems to be equally supported by both partners."

"An act of pure madness, I see your point. Please, do continue," Remus retorted.

Severus now felt his own thin mouth defy the gloominess of his soul, escaping and forming something resembling a smirk. For a year he was only capable of wearing a mask of seriousness and concentration on his face, broken in odd moments with a secret smile or two in the presence of Theodore Lupin.

"Well… there is the whole emancipation issue."

Remus couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Oh so you've noticed, have you?"

Severus shook his head in bemusement.

"I was born and raised in a muggle house, but the ways of the wizzarding world have become far more familiar. I have not seen a wizard and witch behave quite so…"

"… equally?" Remus offered.

"Precisely. I could not for the life of me imagine Arthur Weasley baking a cheesecake, or Molly preparing wood for the winter, and yet I have seen you and Dora do as much, and many more similarly unexpected things. You understand as much as I do that it is a great exception. But our world…" a sigh escaped him as his thoughts turned back to the young woman he held in his arms not half an hour ago "… doesn't work that way, and it's what makes you both quite, … curious."

It was babbling, they both understood, but found it necessary. Severus's words were a subtle introduction to the topic that had settled heavily on their minds.

Since the moment they accepted the possibility Hermione's magic could have been seriously depleted, they knew, even if they saved her, her life would change drastically. To lose one's magic at an adult age was considered an abomination unlike any other, and it was an extremely odd occurrence in the times before the war.

The wizarding rules of life depended on simple rituals, all firmly connected with one's magical signature and touch. It ran far deeper than the common use of housekeeping spells or traditional notions of duties befitting a man or a woman. To be without magic signified being severed from that unspoken thread of society's rituals, being an outcast, even though no one dared to say it out loud.

"Severus," Remus walked over and sat down next to him, asking him seriously "do you really believe she will be shunned if her magic doesn't return?"

Severus fixed his eyes on the row of tattered plastic chairs leaning against the opposite wall.

"I could never shun her."

Remus barked a small laugh.

"Of course, but what about the others?"

"Potter won't, he was raised a muggle. Her closest friends will be put to test. Lovegood, Longbottom, Weasley. I hope the first two have enough between their ears to stand by her. It's only Weasley that I doubt."

Remus would have loved to disagree with Severus, but he carried an equal doubt regarding Ron. The Weasley's were a loving bunch, but they have never been faced with such a change in any of their friends and family. Even with Bill being bitten, it was a lesser change than this one could be. He had to wonder how the young witch would rebuild her life without magic and perhaps without one of her closest friends.

Dora sauntered out of the examination room wearing a shoulder brace and a scowl. Remus was on his feet and by her side in a heartbeat.

"It's not broken, before you ask, and I told David repeatedly that this is completely unnecessary," Tonks explained in a flurry of words.

"I am sure it _is_ necessary. My healing spells are not as strong as yours," Remus said, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and removing some of her scowl with it. He turned to the healer that had followed just after Dora.

"Any permanent damage?"

"Nothing to worry yourself with my boy," Healer Jones said amiably. "I distinctly remember a far more serious break young Dora here came to me with at the tender age of ten. This should heal well within a couple of days. She has her potions prescription, but should refrain from any activity with that arm. That means no chasing after lawbreaking wizards."

Ah. That would explain the scowl etched into her brow.

"You're on sick leave?" Remus asked her and she begrudgingly nodded. He felt the laugh rolling out of his lungs and before he could stop it, it burst out and bounced off the sterile waiting room walls.

She pierced him with a glare that threatened to become a 'You're sleeping in the library' look.

Remus composed himself and hugged her tenderly. "I am sorry my dear, I am not laughing at you. I'm just happy this is more for show than anything else," he said pointing to her brace. His eyes, although still shining from the impromptu burst of mirth, betrayed his worry.

The frown slid from her face and she brought her palm to gently cup his cheek. "You shouldn't worry so much. I am the resilient kind, you know," she said gently.

"It doesn't stop me from worrying," he replied softly, taking her uninjured hand from its place on his cheek and cupping it in both of his'.

"Any news?" Dora asked, turning to Severus, but letting her husband hold her hand for a few moments longer.

Severus shook his head.

"They said it will take a while for them to run more conclusive diagnostics. They're keeping her unconscious for now. Checking for spell damage…" he paused and added more quietly "… and any sign of magic."

Dora looked from Severus to Remus, and he just shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you call Harry?" she asked them.

"I have," nodded Severus. "Only Potter, and with good advice that he should come alone. I sincerely hope he will follow it, although I highly doubt it."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth than the first pops sounded in the main hall.

"Is it true? Is she alive?" the shout was heard and a moment later Harry Potter, in a what was obviously a hastily tugged-on pair of jeans and shirt barged in, closely followed by half of the Weasley family and his own wife.

"And here comes the cavalry," Severus grumbled as he stood firm to face the barrage of questions.

"Where is she?" Ron was next to repeat the pointless question. Ginny, Molly and Arthur followed.

Before Severus had a chance to growl at any of them, the firm voice of Auror Tonks calmed the buzzing of voices. There was not much of the familiar warmth and patience in the words of Dora Lupin as she slid comfortably into her business mode.

"Calm down each and every one of you. It has been a long day and we are all on the last of our nerves."

"Tonks, please," Harry says, his patience abandoned.

"How wonderful. Now he is all set to run to her rescue." Severus's voice carries from behind Dora, his smirk more bitter than usually and laced with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"She is alive." Dora's words carry over the nervous chatter the newly arrived wizards and witches can't seem to stop at present.

The sentence, coming from her mouth as a final confirmation makes Ron finally lose it, and he staggers to the nearest chair.

"We found her, checked the vitals, and transported her here. She is being examined for physical as well as magical damage. She is still, as far as we know, unconscious. I can't tell you more."

Harry seemed bewildered.

"Can't tell me more? Are you serious? We all thought she was dead, and you can't even tell me where she was? How you found her?"

"Not all of us gave up on her, Potter," Severus cut in, keeping his voice as quiet and sharp as possible, "and yes, Auror Tonks is serious. This is a major case and the details of it will not be revealed to _anyone_ at this hour."

Harry's eyes burn into Severus accusingly, but a cold glare back from the dark man makes the boy who lived turn his gaze away.

Molly has in the meantime found a seat next to her youngest son, and her hand is resting in comfort on his shoulder.

Ginny is leaning on her father, resembling more a little girl than a young Mrs Potter at the moment.

The soft buzzing of silencing spells placed on the emergency ward entrance only serves to heighten the vastly present feelings of inadequacy and failure among the present few.

"Severus, this is a high profile Ministry case. Surely some detail will be revealed," Arthur's voice of reason finally breaks the palpable tension.

He doesn't intend to reveal anything to anyone, but he is silenced unfortunately by the words of his friend.

"Arthur," Remus steps in looking pointedly at Severus "you are right. There will be some general detail revealed, but we can't tell you much at this moment. We can," he sends another look of warning to Severus "tell you that she was in captivity for a long time at the same place where we found her. We are not sure if she had been held somewhere else before, but the last half of the year she spent there. It was a secluded farm house, highly protected by repellent charms and dark spells. It was practically invisible on the wizarding maps, and we can say it was a stroke of luck and the death eater's lack of attention of renewing the charms in a timely fashion that finally led us there. She was held by three of the runaway Death Eaters, we do believe them to be the last three the Ministry has been searching for. Two are dead, and one has been detained."

He lowers his eyes as well as his voice. For a couple of long moments the only sounds filling the silence are the incessant ticking of the old hospital clock and the drone of Muffliato farther back.

"She is alive, but she has been through hell and back. Tortured in all ways imaginable." He pauses, drawing his fingers through his matted ash-blond hair in a gesture of pure exhaustion. For a moment he looks so old.

"I can't tell you more about her condition, we are all waiting for the team of Healers to give us a report. We are still here in the official capacity."

His eyes meet Arthur's.

"I have already told you too much, and I trust you can keep it to yourself. We do not want the press knowing about her rescue for as long as possible."

The crowd gathered around Lupin listened intensely to his every word, as the calm-voiced wizard did a stellar job of processing a night from Hell into cold facts.

"All we can do is sit and wait for the Healers to arrive," Dora said as she herself took a seat and pulled Remus beside her.

Severus chose the opposite wall and stood silently brooding and observing the crowd. His thoughts ran frenetically over the events of last year. With agitation he recalled the moments of near capture, and how the tossers slipped through their fingers. He remembered the shriek of Molly Weasley as the hand on the family clock carrying Hermione's face fell off the post. He can still hear the infantile cries of Ron Weasley as he lamented the death of his 'girlfriend', and Harry's desolate expression as he desperately searched the confirmation of the truth in his eyes.

Harry's eyes find Severus's now, and there is a realization in them, as shame floods the younger man's features. He gave up too quickly. His head falls in disgrace and tears sting his eyes. He failed her. They all failed her.

Severus observes the boy who he protected for the worse part of his life, and as Harry stands up and walks over to Severus, he is not surprised. He expects it, probably knowing Harry better than even the boy himself is aware of. He motions to a more secluded area in the waiting room, and Harry silently follows.

"Severus…" Harry starts quietly; his voice laden with guilt.

"Don't," Severus stops him before he can dive headlong into self pity.

"I let her down. We all have…"

"I said don't. She is alive, and that alone is a miracle."

Harry's gaze lifts to the older man's.

"Tell me."

Severus shakes his head.

"You don't want to know."

"I do. I have to know. They…" he glances hastily to the still seated Weasley's "… perhaps they can't stomach whatever it is that you are not telling us, but you must… tell me. Tell me Severus, please."

There is such misguided strength in his tone that Severus almost feels sorry to inflict upon the boy so much added pain. But there is also that irritating self assurance that he is the "chosen one", and that, even after the war, he is stronger and more capable to stomach the cruelties of life.

"Harry, no," Severus says once more, but it's useless. He knows he won't back away now.

"What did they do to her?" Harry whispers tersely, his eyes unyielding as he holds Severus's scowl.

"Raped," Severus spits in harsh vindictiveness "brutally and repeatedly."

He fixes his eyes on Harry, and finds his green eyes locked in blind vengeance.

"Beaten," he continues, and his jaw clenches as he says the word.

He shuts his eyes.

Harry prepares for more.

"Crucio-ed." The word barely slips off Severus's lips, and Harry's hands clench into fists. "Probably imperio-ed as well, and severely malnourished."

Severus looks up, and he knows his every word is hurting the boy deeply. He knows, but he has to tell him. Hermione will need Harry to know it all. So he continues.

"There was evidence of abortion. Her magic is depleted. Completely. She was unconscious when we found her, shackled and discarded as a used toy."

Severus feels the ache in his chest as deeply as he sees it unfurling inside of Harry. In a rare display of sympathy, he takes him by his upper arm and leads him to a chair a bit farther from the rest of the waiting crowd.

Harry is speechless. He is trying to grasp the extent of Hermione's suffering, but he comes up empty-handed. His eyes search Severus's again, and this time, he seems more like a lost child than a married, albeit young, man.

Severus turns to face Harry; detached from the rest of the world.

"Listen to me, as carefully as you can muster."

Harry nods.

"What I told you has to remain only between us. It would be unnecessarily cruel to divulge those details to anyone. I also believe that young Mr. Weasley there should be spared, for the time being, not because I particularly care about his emotional state, but that I am convinced his ability to detain words said in confidence is poor at best. Hermione is alive, and she will wake up. There is no physical reason for her not to. We should be most concerned about her mental state, but that too, judging by her magic depletion has been, I hope, saved."

"What do you mean, judging by her magic depletion?"

Severus's voice is grave.

"I do believe she was brought to a precipice and forced upon a choice. And she chose her sanity. It is the only reason I can think of to see her magic so heavily drained. I have witnessed this occurrence before."

"You saw wizards choose their sanity over their magic?" Harry asked.

"No. But I have witnessed many times wizards choosing their magic over their sanity. In fact, it is how the Dark Lord managed to build such a strong following. You have to understand; torture is a very persuasive way of getting what you want.

"But Hermione is such a powerful witch, I can't imagine…"

"Then don't. Just know that she has, in my opinion, sacrificed all of her power to keep her head, and has suffered profusely for it."

"But we will be able to help her? She can heal?" Harry asks, hope showing itself again in the depths of his eyes as it so often did during the darkest of times in his past.

Severus looks into the eyes of the boy who defined his life for so long and his words are careful, measured when he speaks next.

"Harry," and it is in these rare moments when he calls him by his first name that Severus feels his debt to Lily has been laid to rest "it will be a long road for her. If her sanity is intact, she will still have tremendous psychological damage. We can help her, but be aware that by helping her you, and all of you who choose to stand by her, will need to stand firm and revise your previous definitions of all you have shared."

He stops, giving the younger man a moment to absorb his words.

"The best I can tell you is that she might heal if two conditions are met. First, if she chooses to, for it has been known that some of the victims of prolonged torture choose to stay in the safety of a catatonic state rather than face the pain. Second, if she chooses to face it, she still went through it, and here she will need space, and support, but most of all, respect. You have to understand that the girl you knew is, sadly, deeply buried under layers of protection. It takes bravery, cunning, knowledge, and deep loyalty to what is good to manage the protection of one's soul in such a dark hour. And it has been a dark year for her."

"She kept us safe, you know…. When we were on the run that last year. Ron and I… we were a mess, would have been caught in two days if it weren't for her," Harry says, speaking only to say something. But he understands.

"I was so afraid, having Voldemort in my head, the evil omnipresent and haunting me. But I had them, and it pulled me up every time." His eyes are fixed now on Severus. "You have been in those shoes, for far longer than I was. You can help her as well."

"And I shall, to the best of my ability," Severus said solemnly.

"What was it for you? And don't tell me it was any different. I know the despair it causes. What pulled you up?"

"I had an obligation to fulfil," Severus's voice is guarded, but soft.

"You can't tell me it was _obligation_ that pulled you out of his darkness," Harry's voice is equally guarded, respectful. They have spoken before, about everything, and it had been a cathartic experience. Still, he treads slowly, in awe of the dark man before him.

"No, it was not simply obligation, you know that Harry. It was… a memory of a happy woman, a life lost but a soul that kept demanding of me to do better, to rise above it. For a long time it was enough. Your mother…" his voice lingers.

Harry can't help but fix Snape with his watery green eyes at the mention of Lily. But the dark man lets a sigh fall from his lips and closes his eyes in respect of a memory, and then he is back in the present moment. Lily stays in the past.

Severus clears his throat. "As time went on, I was fortunate enough to find my silver lining. It…" he pauses, and another kind of gentleness washes over his face. It is so private that Harry dares not observe it long, but still he notices.

"Dumbledore?" Harry asks quietly.

Severus shakes his head in disappointment. "No. The old bat failed me, used me too much and gave too little back, even though I deserved, but asked for anything. No. It was another witch, who gave me the pure love a mother bestows upon her child."

"Poppy?" Harry whispers.

"Minerva."

A smile sneaks on both of their faces, small, but present, as each man recalls the old Scottish gal with utmost respect and deep love.

"Figures," Harry finally whispers.

They notice the team of Healers approach the double doors and are up on their feet, their rapid rise from their seats alerting the rest of the gathered witches and wizards.

"Aurors Lupins, Master Snape, an audience if you would," a tall man announces, completely ignoring the rest of the rapidly gathered souls.

They approach the healers and converse quickly, then turn to the crowd. The same tall healer now turns to the Potters, who are standing clinging to each other in support, and the Weasleys mimic their body language. Ron Weasley seems lost in space, but steps up.

"We have been given permission to inform you of Ms. Granger's state. A wizarding oath is required before we proceed. Wands out, if you please."

They all do as he requires, and swear to keep secret the status of the patient.

"My name is Healer Buxton. I have been the head of the team that examined Ms. Granger upon her arrival. We have determined the seriousness of her injuries and I am pleased to inform you that, judging by our scans, she should be sentient when we wake her. Her physical state is, surprisingly, better than it could be expected in such cases. It is an extremely rare occurrence to survive such an ordeal, let alone find one's way out of it with all limbs intact. We have administered prolonged healing charms, and repaired the tissue distorted under the repeated use of Crucio."

A gasp escapes Molly, but the rest are still keeping a straight face. The three Aurors know what is to come, and their eyes cloud over with the images of the horrific sight they discovered while first entering the shed.

"You are under oath, and Aurors Lupins have convinced me that you are as close of a family Ms Granger has, so I shall continue in more detail now. You have to understand that it is a miracle she is alive, and an even greater miracle she is, or appears to be, sane. She has suffered physical abuse of the worst kind. The prolonged exposure to sexual violence has led to two pregnancies, both terminated by the combination of dark curses and potions."

The Healer pauses and Harry's eyes meet Severus's.

"She is completely magically drained. We cannot, at present time, detect any magic within her body. She is, for now, as equally magically inept as a squib would be, with the difference that the body will still remember the feel of magic when it was present, and feel the loss of it most acutely. She has a long road ahead of her, and will be placed in a special, isolated room at the Janus Thickey ward, for even though she suffers no brain damage, we believe the ward is best suited to further determine the permanency of her magical damage."

"Now," the healer turns to the Aurors, "I am optimistic that we can wake her up soon. It would be advisable that she sees someone extremely soothing when she wakes up. We have to avoid all agitation, and prevent any chance of her getting upset over anything, no matter how big or small. Do you have a suggestion as to who the person to be present when we rennervate her should be?"

Severus sees Ron stepping out, but even before he can deny the foolish suggestion, Harry puts his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"No Ron," Harry whispers quietly. "We must not upset her. She will be happy, ecstatic even to see either one of us; it will hurt her more than help her just now."

"But Harry, she would love to see us, I'm sure!" Ron exclaims, even though his head is still reeling from the discovery of the extent of Hermione's' torture.

"Ron, Harry is right," Arthur steps and pulls his son back.

"Who then?" Ron manages to squeeze out of his shuddering mouth. The truth is finally sinking in, and Harry can see it. They are all shaken speechless.

Harry's eyes find Severus again, and he gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

"Minerva," Harry says, and Severus lowers his head in thanks.


	3. Look at me

**UNTOUCHED**

**a story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>

Thanks to all of you who took the time to comment. It is a great encouragement, and I am so grateful to each and every one of you. Thank you also for sticking with me for the first two gruesome chapters. It was painful, but had to be done to set up the story. I am pushing myself to get the first few chapters out quickly, to get over the initial hurdle and roll the plot. We are now at the real beginning of the true tale I promised you. A tale of healing and love.

This will be a long one, and the relationship of Severus and Hermione will start out slowly, but things will become quite clear in a couple of chapters to the two of them.

Stick with me. You shall be (hopefully) pleased with the outcome.

Love, Anette

**UPDATE:** Now betaed by Tzee. All mistakes you find are mine, since I can't leave it alone after she sends it back to me.

**Disclaimer:** Oh how I wish. But it's Jo's world.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Look at me**

The early whispers of dawn spun silently over the horizon, a faint aroma of strawberries and butter biscuits drifting in the air as Severus stepped out into the quiet main parlour of the Headmaster's suite at Hogwarts, shaking the soot off of his shirt and scourgifying the area in front of the fireplace.

In haste to reach Hogwarts as soon as possible, he left his travelling cloak back at the hospital. It was a deliberately unknown fact that he had the private floo address of the Headmistress, a fact dating back to the times when it was the Headmaster's fireplace he used to walk out from.

Not wanting to scare the lady he came searching for, but still knowing he had a duty to bring her to the hospital promptly, Severus walked to her bedroom door and knocked silently once, twice, then waited.

Minerva woke up the moment the floo activated, the charms on the fireplace set to alert her of anyone's presence in her private quarters. So it was with a firmly tied night robe and her wand in her hand that she opened the door leading into the parlour and was met with the image of Severus leaning onto the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips sporting his infamous smirk.

She lowered her wand, her eyes still blurry from sleep. "Severus my boy, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?" she rasped, exercising her voice for the first time after hours of silence.

"There is news," he said, walking over to the window.

Her eyes shone with worry as she approached him. "What news? What happened?"

When his eyes met hers next, she understood and raised her hand to cover her mouth as a silent gasp escaped her. "No."

Tremendous sadness washed over her, and her gaze fell to the floor.

"Minerva…" his soft voice broke the overwhelming silence "… we found Hermione. She is alive."

When the watery gaze met his hardened eyes again, it shone with unshed tears and a look of disbelief, closely followed by the warm glow of hope.

"Severus!" she exclaimed and hugged him on pure impulse.

He returned the hug shortly, and then took her hands in his and brought them gently down. "Come, let us sit. It is complicated."

He proceeded to retell the events, and she listened intently, a myriad of emotions dancing over her seasoned face as the account of the night behind them unravelled.

Finally, he moved his gaze away from the firm spot on the horizon he had chosen to rest it during the increasingly one-sided conversation, and found her sympathetic eyes.

"We think you would be the best choice. She needs to wake up to a calming and friendly face."

"My…. I don't know what to say. Is there anything to be said?" she uttered disconcertedly, then shook herself from of her thoughts and stood up resolutely, pulling into her signature courage stance. In a flash before Severus, stood the unyielding and comforting figure of Minerva McGonagall; Headmistress of Hogwarts, mother hen to all Gryffindors, and his own surprising personal matron.

"Severus, wait for me. I need to put my war colours on. She needs to see it."

A quarter of an hour later the graceful proud figure of a maroon and gold-clad Headmistress closely followed by her unintended protégé walked out of the floo on the main floor of St. Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries. She cut an impressive image as she strode quickly down the long corridor, even Severus stretching his legs to keep up.

Everyone he left when going to get Minerva were still seated in their spots, no one complaining of hours spent in the uncomfortable waiting room rather than their warm beds. When they noticed Minerva, Remus and Dora stood up and were the first to greet her.

"Good morning Lupins, Weasleys, Potters" she said shortly, officially, turning to the gathered wizards and witches. "I have been informed of the miraculous turn of events this night has brought us. I have a few words to say to all of you," she paused, taking a moment to pierce each and every one of them with her most serious look.

"You are all, except Dora and Severus here," her eyes swept over theirs briefly and she gave her a small smile to each before morphing back to her severe posture, continuing to address them all "members of my own house, and have, all of you, been the students under my care during your years at Hogwarts. I will tell you this now, as your old Head of House and teacher, and I expect my words to be taken to heart."

There was a short silence.

"None of you will treat her any differently." She paused, needing the moment to compose herself as well as giving the others a chance to do the same.

She took a calm breath and continued.

"You will show restraint, tact, and above all- give her space when she seeks it. If you do not heed my words you will face my wrath, which you are all intimately familiar with. Am I understood?"

Severus had to smother a smirk upon witnessing the hint of fear within each of the brave Gryffindors surrounding them as they nodded their acceptance. They knew she was not to be trifled with. During his tenure at the school, he wished many a time to be a fly on the wall of the Gryffindor common room to witness her beat discipline into her fire-brained cubs.

"Thank you," Minerva's voice returned him to the present. He turned his attention back to her words. "I know you all care deeply about Hermione. We all do. She is a war heroine, and I am only one of dozens of lucky ones she saved or healed during the Final Battle alone.

Remus," she turned to the auror "would you please direct me to the Healers?" her gaze swept once more over the worried, yet excited faces of the small assembly. "It's time to wake our girl up."

The room is light, windows charmed to show dawn over Hogwarts. The old Hogwarts, in all its glory, now fully restored a year after the fall of the Dark Lord.

The wise woman takes her place at the edge of the bed, healers stepping back, allowing her space.

She lifts her hand and caresses the younger woman's cheek softly, while a dark-clad figure in wrinkled clothes observes the scene through the glass door.

The wand is lifted, a young hand held firmly in the older one.

"Rennervate….."

The word slips from Minerva's lips and a surge of magic breaks through the powerful wood of her wand, enveloping Hermione's frail bones.

An eternity passes in a second.

He stands outside, not daring to breathe.

Minerva's other hand joins the first, enveloping Hermione's, a gentle yet firm squeeze, willing the young woman to open her eyes.

The hour ticks somewhere, a sparrow flies by in front of the enchanted window.

And deep from the darkness of a young soul, a sigh escapes.

Her eyelids flutter and with an obvious effort, dark pools of amber meet the gaze of her mentor.

Minerva smiles softly.

"Welcome back my child."

She feels as if wrapped in feathers. Warm, gentle fabric clings unobtrusively to her body.

She hopes briefly she had been allowed to die.

Enveloped in comfort, she is surer by the minute that it is true, and her final pleas met.

She feels no sadness, only relief.

Her skin doesn't feel as if submerged in molten lava anymore. Her joints have stopped screaming in silent agony. She detects the faint smell of strawberries and butter biscuits and her eyes don't sting.

Yes. She is dead. And what beautiful serenity it is.

There is movement, and someone is holding her hand. It's all right, she tells herself. 'It's safe now Hermione, open your eyes. No one can hurt you anymore.'

She tries to will her body to listen to her, and indeed, her eyelids react to the impulse.

Once more… a little bit more effort…. There is no pain, and she pushes on, and there it is.

The warm face of Minerva McGonagall.

"Welcome back my child," she hears, and recognizes the voice of her teacher.

Deep sadness envelopes her then, and she lets her eyelids droop once more. It wasn't enough. She remembers healing the older woman during the Battle. It obviously wasn't enough.

"Hermione," she hears Minerva calling her name, and she wills her nerves to react. Her eyes open once more. "That's right," she whispers, as if pacifying a child.

She senses, more than feels, the deep tiredness in her body. But more than anything, she feels the warmth of two hands holding her right one, and suddenly it all feels too real. Unsolicited tears roll down her cheeks.

"There there…" Minerva's voice is still tranquil, the low murmurs almost unidentifiable to the healers standing a few feet behind.

She feels the soft brush of fingertips as Minerva McGonagall wipes the tears from her face.

"Thank you," she whispers, and her voice feels oddly painless as the words slide out. The omnipresent rasp, the stinging hurt brought on by too many screams and desperate wails now stays only a memory.

"You are welcome my dear."

"Warm," Hermione says softly, and turns her head to the window slowly.

Again, no pain. She curls her lips into a thin smile, and it's a sign of relief more than anything else.

"Hogwarts…." She has noticed the view from the window, and the smile on her face is now evident. "I knew I would come back to Hogwarts…." Her eyes fill with tears again, and she turns her eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry… I did my best…. There was so much blood… I thought I healed you…" she lets out softly in a series of disappointed sighs.

Minerva frowns, her mind analyzing the meaning of Hermione's words, and then comes to a shocking realization, followed by a soft shake of the head and a firm hand squeeze.

"Hermione," Minerva calls, but the girl's eyes are still downcast. Nevertheless, she continues softly, her tone as steady as it's been since the start of the awakening.

"You have healed me."

A sniff resounds, filling the air.

"I know. I understand. You don't have to prepare me. I realize I am dead now. It's ok. There's no pain. No more pain… I know."

Her voice is small but peaceful, and her eyes focus on the small hole in the white sheet covering her. She finds it immensely interesting that even in the afterlife there exist things such as imperfect bed sheets.

"Hermione… Look at me," Minerva's voice is now louder, and it startles the girl enough to meet the eyes of her teacher.

"You healed me. You have not failed me, could never fail me, my dear, strong, brave girl. You are safe, and very much alive. My dear, this is not the afterlife, or I am in a far deeper delusion than even our dear professor Binns."

"What?" Hermione's voice betrays her incredulity.

"Hermione, you are alive."

The words reach her consciousness, break through the envelope of her mind, and she starts to shake, concluding rather than noticing it's a consequence of violent spasms wracking her body as she lets a year of defensive walls dissolve from her mind and turn into sobs of relief.

She is sitting now, partly on her own and partly with the help of the older woman, who is holding her in her arms now, her own tears streaming down her face as she cradles the distraught girl and rocks her gently.

A minute passes, then two. The healers observe in silence as a broken soul is let out of its safeguard. It's a revelation of pain. It's an open wound dripping with invisible blood. It's a tiny crack which lets into the deepest hidden alcoves a ray of light.

Of hope.

It's enough. And there, amidst the comfort of cotton sheets, clean air and safe arms of a woman she trusts as a mother, the healing begins.


	4. Different

**UNTOUCHED**

**a story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>:

Still Jo's. I am not envious; she is nice and lets me play with them. I even get to pick their clothes! And words and all! She's the coolest!

**Author's****note**:

I am floored by the amount of reviews and support this story has received so far. Nothing, I tell you, nothing fuels a writer like reviews do. As this is the case, I am posting the next chapter.

Thank you!

Love, Anette

Now Betaed by the fantastic Tzee.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Different**

She stood by the window, watching the rain fall silently outside. It was that warm, short-lived, summer splash of water that dropped on you out of a clear sky only to settle down a few minutes later. She was witnessing the last stormy moments of the downpour and comparing the events of the last few weeks to the fickle weather.

Her wand lay on the bedside table, a reminder of some other time; some other Hermione.

It had been a couple of days now since she'd settled into Grimmauld Place, accepting the open offer of Remus and Dora to stay with them if the Burrow turned out to be too much.

In spite of a valiant effort made by the elder Weasleys, she could not stand to be in that place, so near to Ron, her memories of their coming of age, the summers before the war and feel…absolutely nothing. It all felt trivial now.

She wrapped the hastily thrown on flannel shirt more firmly around her recovering- but still too thin- frame and closed the window after a gust of cold air blew inside. So much for warm summer showers. Even the usually predictable English weather didn't know how to act in her presence.

They all tiptoed around her, trying not to hover, but the trying in itself was overwhelming.

She would always be grateful to Molly for taking her in and not asking disturbing questions. They -Arthur and Molly- showed an understanding hitherto unknown to the young woman in light of her -she stopped to find the right word -changes.

Change.

Such a simple word, and yet one that carries the burden of so many, and so much.

Yes, Arthur and Molly accepted her _change_. They understood, and let her leave when she said she had to. If it weren't for her last conversation at the Burrow being solely with those two, she doubted she would ever step foot into that once so beloved house again.

Try as he might, Ron could not reason as his parents did. He _had_ tried; he had used all of his knowledge in his efforts to be of help to her. His only flaw, and a major one at that, was that this was not a situation that could be handled by relying on previous cases.

There _was_ no previous case. No one in the wizarding world had emerged from a traumatic situation in a state quite like hers.

Glancing once again at her wand, she tried to let go of the resentment building inside of her. It was so easy to get angry nowadays. Angry at a piece of wood, now useless to her, laying undisturbed and collecting dust. Angry at her best friend, who, in a parallel universe could have become more to her.

If she had stayed on the other side of the Quiddich pitch during the Battle, if she had not followed Remus and Dora after Harry sent them to out of Hogwarts to go help Snape, if she had not tried to heal Hooch's open arm fracture and had gone with Ron into the Room of Requirement… If.

_If._

What a silly word.

A word that had been eating her from the inside out ever since she had been captured. A word she stifled the sound off during the very first week of her capture. A word that had resurfaced now, together with all of her other, carefully locked away, recollections.

She let her hands drift down onto her flat stomach.

Three children. Dead.

A little over a year ago, she was still a virgin. A little over a year ago she could not have imagined that she would know the pain of that particular kind. She still kept that part of her soul carefully shielded inside her slowly healing mind. Her sound mind.

Yes was the answer to their question. The question they all carried in their eye. All but one person; her former Potions Professor. She realized he didn't wonder because he knew. Somehow, he knew.

They all wanted to know if she drained herself willingly of her magic. She shook her head even now, standing in her new room alone and watching the rain fall in blissful peace.

As if any action of hers during last year could fully carry the description of 'willing'. But in a broader sense, yes, she had willingly chosen to feel less pain. She realized early on that she could write out her own deal with the devil, one paragraph at a time. She knew that she would not get out of it alive. She stopped caring about her magic, as unbelievable as it sounded to herself as well as the people around her during the weeks following her rescue.

She stopped caring about her magic. She simply tried to feel less of anything.

Pain.

Heartache.

Desolation.

Fear.

Terror.

So she tore at a piece of her magical core each time her tormentors walked into the shed, closed her eyes when they touched her, muffled the sounds of her own torture in those times that they felt especially jovial.

She stripped sheets of her deepest magic away, and wrapped the pain of losing the children with it.

And now she was empty, without a purpose, without her magic, and what scared her the most- or would have scared her if she had_allowed_ herself to fear such a mundane notion- would be the eerie calm that now resided in the pit of her stomach.

She was fine.

And it felt like death in itself.

She let no one touch her, and not even Minerva counted as an exception after those first hours following her awakening.

And she was sick of people touching her without permission. They wanted to hug her, caress her hair, rub warmth into her perpetually cold hands, and soothe tension out of her shoulders.

She had no patience for their feeble attempts at sympathy.

She didn't need their pity.

She was hollow, and felt perfectly fine that way. Feeling fine was safe. Feeling fine was controlled. At least she could have _that_ under control.

She was alive, and she still had her head screwed on straight, which was more than many of her friends and colleagues that died that night in the Battle could have said for themselves.

She could live like this; focus on some other field of study and shut everything else out. She didn't need anything else.

Yes… She would be fine.

* * *

><p>Severus stood against the wall that Hermione's bedroom shared with the library, his palms firmly pressed against the dark oak that clad the comfortable room from floor to ceiling. He could feel her, his magical senses sharply attuned to her.<p>

He had only silence to keep him company.

She was the woman he loved, as petty and simplistic as it sounded if said out loud, which would never be the case anyhow. She was a pillar of rock previously absent in their world.

And he was only her old Potions Professor; her silent dinner companion as of recently.

When she decided to move in with Remus and Dora, she was aware, but only marginally, of his presence in the vast house.

Grimmauld Place had changed much after the war. When Harry Potter decided to leave his godfather's ancestral home to the only living marauder and move into a house built from scratch with his new young wife Ginevra, Grimmauld underwent a serious reconstruction under the watchful eyes of the aforementioned marauder's wife.

Dora made sure to exterminate any traces of darkness from the creaky mansion, turning it into a comfortable, yet unobtrusive, home for her family. The old house had a mind of its own, and it hadn't changed. She just made sure its will was easily tweaked to fit the needs of she, Remus and Teddy.

Dora and Remus were the ones who found him in the Shrieking Shack after Nagini did her best to end his life. It was a mixture of dumb luck of the snake missing the aorta by a fraction of an inch, combined with swift use of emergency potions that Severus always carried on him and Dora Lupin's talented use of healing spells.

He later found out it had been Potter that sent the aurors to his aid.

The boy was a perpetual thorn in his side for seven years, his rash nature and impulsiveness bringing him into more danger than he would ever realize. He was so much like his father. The almost Hufflepuffian nature of his mother had rarely shown itself prior to that night, and the fact that he had sent help to him before he reached the pensieve in Dumbledore's office was a flick of a light switch regarding Severus's attitude towards young Potter.

It was a deed his late mother would have been proud of. It was, in fact, something Lily would surely have done were she in her son's place. James? Never. But in that moment, deciding to help the man he had no evidence or reason to, Harry Potter redeemed himself to Severus for all the past and future unavoidable manifestations of the genetic influence of his father.

He asked him why, after he had regained consciousness, nearly two months after the battle.

Harry said only that he was sorry he hadn't seen his true colours before that night.

And he couldn't have seen his true self, Severus pondered now, standing in the library, listening to Hermione's movements. The Potter boy, no; Harry, for he was Harry to him now, never did get a chance to see Severus for the man he was, only the mask he wore constantly for a longer time than the boy drew breath. That was, until Severus himself was convinced he was at the end of his road.

He let his masks drop, and it made all the difference.

It came as a surprise to many, but not as huge as it would be considered by those less observant, that it was Severus in whom Harry learned to trust almost as much as he trusted Remus. And Harry Potter was now among the rare few that Severus counted in his inner circle of friends.

His thoughts, restlessly jumping from memory to memory, returned again to the werewolf.

Another surprise, brought on by his surprising survival.

In the months following his poison induced coma, Severus lay in the isolated room of the Dai Llewellyn ward at St. Mungo's. During that time not many had dared to show their faces and keep him company.

Severus Snape was a man who valued his solitude, or so they have been convinced. So they left him alone.

He rethought the definition of solitude in those months of recovery. It had been a necessity during his time a spy, and had become a comfortable escape. But then, faced with a different choice without dire consequences, he had, after his initial astonishment, begun to realize that he did, in fact, crave company when said company was pleasing and unobtrusive.

Remus and Dora Lupin were poster figures for the definition.

They were his closest friends now, his 'almost' family, if Severus could ever choose one, and young Theodore was a bright shining beam of energy he adored, albeit silently, for he could not extricate himself from his previous learned traits so quickly.

Although deciding not to reveal the change in his nature on the outside, he was able to admit to himself the truth that he felt safe, loved even, and definitely appreciated in the Lupin household.

His thoughts returned to the woman next door, unaware of his proximity, unaware that he could feel her emotions. This rare wizarding trait had been manifesting itself in his magic during the last year, a possible by-product of his previous frequent use of legilimency and subsequent lack of. There was no longer any need to read people's minds on a daily basis after the war, a fact he was grateful for.

The first day she moved in he could only feel her general disposition, whether she was enveloped in emotions of a healing or a destructive kind. He slept on the sofa in the library that night, his sleep feeble and torn while she tossed and turned in the other room, his senses fine-tuning themselves to her and her alone.

This was the third day of her stay with the Lupins, and by now it felt almost like sensing her particular thoughts, the shades of it as precise as if he was inside of her mind.

A long sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, his palm moving slowly over the slightly rougher spot on the oak board under it.

Empty.

The emotional trace coming from her was weak enough while she was awake, and he knew what she was doing. It was a method of self-preservation.

Tonight he would sleep in the library again. His third night in a row.

He knew that her emotional shields would break down when she slipped into yet another restless sleep, made possible only with the use of the Dreamless Sleep potion.

He would be there, feeling her, and learning what it was that she allowed herself to be. He would be of use to her, a presence in her life in the most discreet of ways. A former teacher. A knowing soul.

After a while, if he could sense her trusting him, he would offer her more. His company. His friendship.

If it was all she could take from him, then so be it.

Pushing hopes of a love returned far into the recesses of his mind, he took a deep breath and made yet another decision regarding his life.

He would honour her limitations. As much as it cost him. Her serenity in these early days was a reward greater than many he had been showered with after the battle. Potter's acceptance. Remus's friendship. Teddy's love. Dora's support. It all faded in intensity compared to the satisfaction that perhaps he could make this brave woman feel calm. Safe. Protected.

For him, it would be enough. More than enough. It would be the world.


	5. Call me Severus

**UNTOUCHED**

**a story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>:

Still Jo's.

**Author's note**:

The story is juuust about finished being set up and soon the plot will begin to unravel. Remember, in spite of the horrific beginning, this will be a story about good things, about rebuilding your life and healing with the help of people who stand by you. I believe both of my leads are long overdue in receiving some TLC. Stay with me.

I would again like to tell you how thankful I am that you are reading. Please leave your comment. I care about your opinion.

Thank you!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**Call me Severus**

It's another late afternoon at Grimmauld Place and Dora Lupin is unsuccessfully trying to mend a pair of Teddy's trousers while sitting in the wicker chair on the back porch overlooking a small wild garden she'd created in the magically expanded courtyard.

"I don't even know why I try…"she sighs after another five minutes of failing to attach the unicorn patch over the left knee and takes her wand, transfiguring the item into a pair of denim shorts. "There. It's summer. These will do."

Severus clears his throat and makes his presence known, stepping away from the doorframe and coming to sit in the chair opposite her, the one facing the door he'd just walked through.

"Curious," he says sparingly, tempting her into the conversation.

"What is? Surely not my inability at housekeeping duties?"

He snorts. "Precisely. It is one of universe' mysteries how you managed to escape the expected talents to go in accordance with your huffelpuffian nature."

She chuckles now. "I argued with that blasted hat you know. It wouldn't listen to me. It's gone batty forty years ago if you ask me."

"Are you implying a different house would have been more suited?" he teases her now. Her 'huffelpuffian nature', as he often called it much to her annoyance, displayed itself fully not in the usual realm of cooking and mending torn knees on little boy's trousers, but in the more important aspect of caring for her loved ones. "Well…. Perhaps you could have been a snake," he teases, making her eyebrow shot up high to meet her fuchsia pink hairline.

"Severus, my hearing must be playing tricks on me. Did you just pronounce me a possible Slytherin?"

"I have to admit certain cunning aspirations have manifested themselves in your character during the last year I have been more familiarly acquainted with your persona."

"Oh really? Such as?" she pushes on, answering his tease with her every retort.

"Let's see…" he pretends to ponder over the situation. "You are more than able to produce a fabulous cheesecake, and yet you have your husband convinced he is the sole winner in that category."

A loud, uninhibited laugh rolled out of her throat. "He makes mouth-watering desserts. Why should I try to impose on his obvious enjoyment?"

"Which makes you a loving and considerate wife, but does require cunning and subtle manipulation."

"All right, I will admit to being capable of a little harmless manipulation now and then for the noble cause of great dinners and teatime pastries. It hardly makes me a Slytherin."

"You showed an impressive amount of layered plotting regarding one other issue. Combined with your distinctive tendency to not let matters lie, it resulted in a highly advanced manifestation of all traits Slytherin."

"My my Severus, please enlighten me what issue you are talking about?"

"I am talking of your quest to drag me out of the solitary shell of my miserable existence and make me realize your wolf of a husband would be a perfect wizzarding chess partner."

She roared with laughter. "Are you accusing me of manipulating you into friendship and family dinners?"

"I certainly am. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, just to make it clear."

He took out his wand and reversed her transfiguration of Teddy's trousers. Then he took them, together with the unicorn patch, needle and thread and set out to carefully attach the animation to the torn place. "Some things are not improved by magic. Besides, he loves those damned purple trousers. Buggers me all the time I should make you transfigure me a matching pair," he spoke while mending them. "Insufferable little bugger. He'll probably end up in Gryffindor. After all, it takes great courage to suggest that I wear purple trousers."

She shook her head, a small smile adorning her features and watched attentively as his fingers pulled the needle in and out over and over again until the patch was firmly secured.

"There," he said, laying the mended item on the coffee table.

She stood up, picking up the trousers to bring inside. She ran her finger over the carefully stitched patch as she pondered a thought for a moment, before dismissing it with a head shake. "As if anyone would believe me…" she mumbled.

He gave her his trademark smirk. "A man learns a thing or two living alone for all of his life."

She smiled warmly. "Thank you for this. Teddy will be pleased to have it."

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Tea?" she asked casually, resuming her walk inside.

"Yes please," he answered.

"Cheesecake?"

"Wouldn't refuse it even if I could."

Dora was just about to round the corner into the kitchen when she noticed Hermione curled up on the sofa in the small breakfast parlour, a room hardly ever used until recently.

"Hello Hermione," she greets her softly stopping at the door. She has learned to announce her presence. They all have, even Teddy, showing maturity far beyond his tender age.

Hermione lifts her eyes from a leather-bound tome and the corners of her lips tug into a small smile. "Hi Tonks," she greets in return.

The smile is barely there, but it is there, and Dora can't help but feel happy about this tiny progress. It's been weeks and this is the first, or one of the first times she is responding to them. "Severus and I are about to hog the leftovers of the cheesecake along with a spot of tea. Wondered if you might like to join us… the heat has taken mercy on us this afternoon, it's rather nice outside."

Hermione considers the thought as she lets the book she'd been reading rest in her lap. It's like every time around this time of day. She sits in what Teddy renamed 'Rinny's playroom' every day between lunch and dinner, reading in silence, lifting her eyes from time to time to a vase with freshly cut wild flowers from the garden. She presumes Tonks makes sure it never withers. It's a charm, maybe, or simply a fresh bouquet every few days. And every day around tea time Tonks's soft request stirs her out of her thoughts. It's never pushy, the invite, and she has yet to accept it.

"Perhaps," she replies finally, and it's what she always says.

"As you wish love," Tonks says with a small smile in return. She'll bring in a cup for her later on.

After she leaves her, Hermione picks up her book and resumes her reading, but a faint thought disturbs her concentration.

She would like to go sit in the sun. It's the first time the wish manifested itself. She would not mind some cheesecake as well. Remus does make great desserts. And they would not disturb her. Yes, she could take her book outside with her. And have her tea in the garden.

Half an hour later three plates with cake take up half of the small coffee-table, while the rest of the free surface is occupied by a tea set.

Severus is perusing the afternoon edition of the Prophet and occasionally comments on something while Dora busies herself with the gossip section. She will give it another five minutes, then take the cake and tea to Hermione. For now, she is still hopeful, still waiting for the girl to join them. Hufflepuffs are nothing if not patient.

He is just about to break the silence again with a snide remark on the new ministry initiative regarding independent herbology research when his words are silenced and his attention turns to the slowly approaching figure.

She is wearing long trousers and a long sleeved tunic over them. Both made of the lightest material, but covering her head to toe nevertheless. In this summer heat, her choice seems unusual at first, but he does understand her need to be covered.

"Hello," she greets them softly as she walks onto the patio.

Dora's eyes fly up to meet Severus's, but he betrays no emotion as his face and his posture relaxes deliberately.

"Miss Granger," he says with a small nod, his greeting formal, but his voice soothing.

"Professor," she replies out of habit. "I was wondering if…" she pauses, her eyes glancing frantically from the wild garden to the abandoned wooden crate and back, anywhere but his eyes. There is something confusing about those eyes. She finds herself not actually upset, but oddly shaken out of her apathy every time their glances accidentally meet over meals.

Dora, as well as Severus is well prepared for this situation. They have discussed it at length with the psychologist at St. Mungo's before she came to live with them. It all came down to a few things. No raised voices. No sudden movements. Patience. Stay calm and don't nag. Don't hover. So they did as they knew they had to. They gave her space and waited for her to calm her thoughts.

After a moment, it was Dora who motioned to the empty chair and the empty cup. "Of course love. Make yourself comfortable. If you'd like, I am pretty certain Severus could relinquish the science section of his Prophet."

Hermione sat down, holding her book still. "No thanks. I have this." She is eyeing the cake, and Severus let's the corner of his mouth rise a bit. Her hand reaches for the tea, but her hand shakes, so she drops it in her lap along with her gaze.

Without a word, Severus fills her mug, for they know a cup and saucer is still too difficult to hold in her often-shaking hands. He puts two sugars and a liberal splash of milk and gets up, taking the mug and placing it into her hands, careful not to graze her skin with his hand. It is almost too cruel on him, but he pulls away without even accidentally touching her fingers as they wrap around the mug.

She lifts her eyes to meet his' and for only a moment, he lets her see the warmth and comfort he wishes to bestow upon her. She doesn't realize the extent of it, naturally, but it makes her feel better and her tremor stills. She feels the warmth of the tea through the ceramic in her grasp, and closes her eyes for the briefest of moments to relish in this small comfort, but so huge for her.

"What are you reading, if I may be so bold to question?" Severus asks casually after he'd returned to his chair.

"Auden," she replies, but does not return to her book immediately. "It's poetry. Muggle."

He knows well who Auden is, but doesn't let on, preferring to have her talk to them about it, even for a short while.

"I find it… comforting," she adds after a short pause, not wishing to delve deeper into reasons for her choice of poetry.

"Then it would seem that your choice of literature trumps mine by a mile," he motions to the Prophet still laying trice folded on the edge of the coffee-table where he placed it to fetch her the tea.

She stays silent, her eyes disinterestedly glazing over the wizzarding print.

Since she'd been released from the hospital with a diagnosis of permanent magic loss, her general interest in the wizzarding world had been marginal at best. Severus watched her go through her daily routine and tried to detect any reaction to her major loss. He was still failing at that task. Her walls were built high around any inside world he had, and there were only glimpses here and there indicating to its existence.

"You should try the classics Professor," she says at last. "Plato, or Aristotle perhaps. You might find it… intriguing."

"I shall consider your recommendation," he replies.

There is a long silence before she adds, seemingly almost to herself, but her eyes turned to him with intent, a silent plea of sorts. "There is much of the Muggle world to explore Professor." She makes it sound like a question.

He lets a slightly more open smile sneak onto his face as he nods in agreement. "There surely is Miss Granger."

Another pause, then a whisper steals away from her lips. "Hermione." Her eyes are again focused on his', and the more she does that, the more it becomes so easy, so natural to meet them.

"Hermione," he repeats, and she is unsure if the warmth her name is infused with is imaginary or real. It does feel real to her, and it calms her, the way he says her name.

"Thank you for the tea Professor," she says quietly taking a sip out of her mug.

His eyes are the ones to seek contact this time, and she holds them. "Severus," he rasps; his voice like raw silk. "Call me Severus."

She takes another sip of her tea and silently nods.

And so they continue the quiet perusal of their chosen literature.

Dora observes the man beside her, then the young woman, and can't help but feel… hopeful.


	6. Dreamless

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.**

**Author's note**: My Hermione has brown hair, as described in the book. "She had a bossy sort of voice, _lots of bushy brown hair_, and rather large front teeth."I know Emma Watson makes us think of Hermione as a lighter brown, almost blonde type of girl, and I like that thought. I just kept it in the brown category… Thought to let you know.

This is a longer chapter, but I didn't want to break it into two parts, especially because of how it ended.

Now go read, and tell me what you think!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

**Dreamless**

Hermione woke up early that morning, due to the summer heat or perhaps the fact that she was able to sleep relatively peacefully last week and felt rather rested.

She stepped into the shower and let cooling water wash away the last remaining wisps of sleep. As her hands busied themselves with her hair, an uninvited image stormed into her mind, overwhelming her senses, making her shudder, close her eyes and hold onto the shower handle in a death-firm grip.

"_Filthy mudblood…. Hairy beast… Dirty animal… look at her tangled fur…"_

Her breathing quickened and she felt her stomach contract, and a moment later, before she could stop herself, she was dry-heaving, falling to her knees and crawling into the corner, the coolness of the tile feeling oddly comforting.

Quarter of an hour later she managed to pick herself up. It was not the first time this had happened to her. She stepped under the water spray and rinsed off the half dried shampoo out of her hair. She took great care to condition it, her curls falling heavily down her back and brushing the soft curve off her backside.

In the days after her rescue, at the hospital, her first waking thought had been how, curiously, she didn't feel itchy. One would presume the first thing she would notice was lack of pain, but in her heavily sedated moments, it was the feeling of calmness over her skin that confused and delighted her the most. She wondered who took care of her in those first days, groomed her and cleaned her… some days she wanted to visit St. Mungo's and inquire about it, but the very thought of going to the hospital again was still too much too soon. So she let it rest with a silent thank you to whoever it was.

She remembered their insults. 'Hairy animal'. She had been captured and held as a beast for a year. She was filthy, she stank, and felt disgusted with her state in those rare times she was well enough to care about such trivial things.

She brushed out her long chestnut mane carefully now, and remembered how she came so close to chopping it all off in her attempt to feel less like a beast, less dirty.

She didn't, realizing it would be another victory of her captors. And, whoever took care of her in the hospital took great pains to make her hair clean and healthy from day one. She looked at it now and saw it as a war trophy. Her curls bearing witness of her survival and contributing to her Gryffindor coat of armour she felt she was perpetually wearing nowadays.

She took great pains though that it remained the only reminder, carefully grooming the rest of her physique. It made her feel clean. Feel like herself again.

Checking the time, she hurried. A special guest was to join them for breakfast, and she was actually looking forward to it. In fact, she pondered as she got dressed, she was feeling so much better than the last time they met, and she did owe the old lady an apology.

Minerva had, after all, always had her best interests at heart.

She was at the bottom of the steps when the knock sounded at the door, and was about to go open it when Teddy rushed passed her. He mumbled a 'sorry Aunt Rinny' almost as an afterthought for almost knocking her over in his haste, and slid down the tiled floor, stopping before the door.

"Teddy, remember to ask who is it!" Tonks yelled from the kitchen, although the charms around the house had already alerted them of the identity of the visitor.

"Who is it?" Teddy asked, and Hermione smiled softly, shaking her head.

"I'll get it Ted, I know who it is," Hermione said walking over to the boy.

"How do you know? Can you see through walls like uncle Sewwus?"

"What?" she asked, confused. Perhaps she would have pondered the thought some more, but another knock sounded a moment later, and she walked briskly the rest of the way, opening the door to a mildly irritated, but still good humoured Minerva McGonagall.

"Hermione my dear, it's so good to see you!" the older woman said amicably, and Hermione returned the smile. She took a deep breath and stepped closer, taking Minerva's hands in hers and giving them a warm squeeze.

"Thank you for coming professor," Hermione said, her eyes resting on their joined hands.

When she raised her eyes to meet her old Transfiguration professors', she saw them glistening with tears at the obvious show of trust in the allowed physical contact. Minerva still felt the pain of Hermione's rejection in the hospital, of her almost complete nervous breakdown when young Weasley tried to hug her. Although she felt no fear when Minerva had awakened her the day before, after the incident Hermione refused to allow any physical contact, even when the person in question was Minerva.

"My dear, it was a pleasure to receive the invitation. A true pleasure", McGonagall croaked, trying to keep her voice under control.

Out of all the people Hermione saved or helped during the Final Battle, hours before her capture, it was Minerva who felt most of the guilt, being the last one Hermione lost precious time on helping rather than seeking shelter. She vowed that, were Hermione ever to be found and saved, she would do all in her power to help the young woman heal.

The seriousness and emotion of the situation was quickly broken by a firm tug of Teddy's hand as he practically dragged Minerva into the kitchen, happily prattling along how his Dad was making special pumpkin pancakes and something about his Mum yelling at him for doing it too late… The boy was a marvel, and a welcome distraction. And so the three walked over to the kitchen, joining the Lupins.

"Where is Severus?" Minerva asked as they have all taken their seats at the cosy kitchen table.

"Right here," A silken voice answered as he walked through the doorway. "Pardon me, I have been informed you'd be arriving at nine o'clock", Severus said coming around the sitting Minerva and taking her hand, laying a soft kiss on the back of her palm. She blushed. He smirked, but in truth only did so to hide his smile.

"You know, you could let it show sometimes," Minerva said. "The smile. It would not kill you."

Hermione almost chocked on her juice. She eyed Minerva, then Severus, and in the end turned her puzzled eyes towards Tonks.

"Just observe," Tonks mouthed, and Hermione leaned back in her chair, opting to do just that.

"So my boy, would you explain why it has been two weeks since I've seen you at Hogwarts last?" Minerva asked Severus in, what seemed to Hermione, quite a motherly tone of voice. Actually, she did sound more like a disapproving aunt, but still there was affection in her words.

"Minerva…" he warned, shifting nervously in his seat.

Severus Snape, nervous? Hermione felt her eyebrows travel upward as she continued to observe the short dialogue.

"I had… matters to attend to," Severus finally uttered, still avoiding Minerva's questioning gaze. He was, in the end, unsuccessful, and was forced to look at her.

Minerva seemed surprised for a moment, shocked even, but she quickly masked it.

Just not quick enough to slide it past Hermione. 'What on Earth happened just now?' Hermione wondered silently. She would have to question the Lupins about it later. They were fairly easy to squeeze information out of, especially dear Tonks. A Hufflepuff really had no chance against a Gryffindor, even one a bit out of shape.

"Breakfast is ready," Remus announced proudly, placing a plate of his famous pumpkin pancakes on the table as the last item of the menu.

Minerva chuckled. "I will never understand your passion for cooking Remus," she said placing one pancake, along with some strawberry jam, on her plate.

Remus smiled. "So happy you decided to join us today Minerva. We missed you at breakfasts."

"Do you come often?" Hermione asked, and Minerva shot a quick glace to the other three before answering.

"I come often enough. Two or three times a month, when I can manage to leave Hogwarts without my supervision."

"Tea?" Dora asked, and everyone agreed. She started pouring, and Hermione's attention was promptly focused on her mug. She could hear Minerva talking about some renovating projects still being finished at Hogwarts, but her eyes never left her mug. The item stood out, being a highly unusual addition to Tonks's matching tea set. She still had a slight tremor in her hands, after-effects from the Cruciatus, as Severus had explained to her, and besides, she really liked her tea mug. It had a nose and ears on one side, and a pink ceramic knob as a tail on the other, making it all a really pretty artistic interpretation of a bunny. Yes, she had a bunny tea mug. And she eyed it now with increasing alarm.

Minerva observed Hermione as her attention drifted away from their conversation and kept going on, but just barely, so as to not alert the girl that she was being observed. She noticed how tense Hermione seemed until Severus stood up and took the teapot from Tonks, filling Hermione's cup. Only then did the girl relax.

'Hmm….. interesting', Minerva thought as she watched Hermione relax further when Severus walked over to the girl and placed the bunny mug next to her plate without a word. When he returned to his seat, Hermione gifted him with a warm look and a small smile. He returned it with a nod. Again without words. 'Severus and I will have a chat later on', the older lady concluded and focused on her breakfast.

Hermione took the first sip of her tea, perfect as always, and closed her eyes briefly enjoying the warmth that spread through her. She didn't quite understand why she liked it best when Severus prepared a cup for her. It was just so, and all the others accepted it silently. It has been two weeks since they had had tea together in the garden for the first time, along with their sparse discussion about Muggle literature. She remembered the moment well. She reached for the cup Tonks had set out for her. Her hands shook. And Severus knew what to do. He prepared her tea in Teddy's mug, which had since then become 'her' bunny mug, and he made it taste… comforting. Maybe it was the tea, maybe his unobtrusive presence, maybe a combination of both, but she did feel better. Every day, she felt better, her hands shook less, her bed sheets were less tangled, and she was grateful to this unusual family she was slowly becoming a part of.

"Hermione are you feeling up for a walk later on?" Minerva asked, and Hermione's eyes shot up in alarm at the question. She forced the panic down, lowered her eyes at her plate and gripped her bunny mug tighter.

"I don't know…. I haven't yet…."

"Only if you wish", Minerva added. "But I have heard of this fabulous new bookstore opening not far away from here and I thought you would be interested to accompany me."

"A Muggle bookstore?"

"Yes."

It's close?" Hermione asked, waves of anxiety almost visible as she tried not to let it show.

"Three streets away. Near the old cinema," Minerva answered, and waited, hoping she would get a positive response.

"We won't be long? From home? I would not like to be out long…" she asked, her voice as frail as a little girls'.

Severus's heart broke at the sight, but he held up his firm façade. It was his idea to bring Minerva to get Hermione out of the house for the very first time. And it made him happy that she referred to Grimmauld as 'home'.

"No dear. An hour. Two at most, if you decide you can."

She took another long swallow of her tea, let the familiar aromas work their magic, and nodded. "I guess we could go see it."

Dora and Remus shared a soft smile, and Severus just kept his eyes on his own tea cup, carefully controlling his own emotions. She was going out. It's been six weeks, and they had succeeded in their first important mission. Hopefully, Minerva would be able to further their carefully constructed plan.

Sometimes, it seemed that the entire household was on a secret assignment. Remus was working in the offices for the next month and a half, flooing to and from the Ministry every day. Dora as well, having informed her superior of a necessity to be in London for the time being, was only sent at the shortest of missions. Since it was no secret that the war heroine Granger lived with the Lupins, their requests at work were dealt with quickly and to the satisfaction of all involved.

Still, it left Hermione alone in the house with Severus and Teddy most days of the week, and so it came to no surprise that Hermione felt more relaxed in the presence of the boy and her old Potions professor.

The breakfast continued in an almost casual conversational manner, and Hermione realized that the liberties Minerva took when talking to Severus were the liberties he was glad to let her take with him. They seemed close, really close, and she wondered when that had happened.

She had lost so much, the least painful of it was the loss of time, but still it was that loss that she felt most acutely.

A year of her life.

She didn't know her friends anymore. Ron was irritable at best, and simply not what she needed most of the time. Harry and Ginny were married. Married! At nineteen. She was still wrapping her mind around it. The point was, they have all moved on with their lives. She was just beginning to realize she got out alive. To her, the war ended six weeks ago, and the last year was a thousand times worse than all of their encounters with Voldemort combined.

So she pushed the fears that kept her inside the house away, she comforted herself with the thought that she was going out in the company of the Headmistress of Hogwarts and she would be perfectly safe.

She put on a brave face, took a deep breath, drank the last of her tea from her bunny tea mug and went to find her sunglasses.

It was Muggle London. Chances of being recognized were slim, but she didn't want to take any nevertheless. And it was a perfect sunny summer day after all.

It was late in the afternoon that Hermione returned, obviously in a good mood and followed inside by a positively ecstatic Minerva McGonagall.

They found the others on the back terrace and joined them.

Hermione did feel really good. In fact, the whole afternoon was a wave of fresh energy and ideas. She loved the feel of sunshine on her face. She loved the smell of hot, smoggy air in the city. She loved being anonymous. And above all, she loved roaming the aisles and exploring the bookshelves of a bookstore once again.

It was a Muggle bookstore, and she was so surprised to discover a myriad of interesting topics, from the classics and philosophy to modern English literature. She hadn't realized before that, in embracing the magical world, she was relinquishing a sea of Muggle wisdom and knowledge. And she had been reminded that afternoon just how much more of the world there was to see.

It was in good spirits that she took her seat between Remus and Dora, and accepted her afternoon tea mug from Severus with a tremor significantly lesser than usual.

He noticed. He noticed it all. The healthy glow of her cheeks. The excited spark in her irises. The soft smile and concentrated look that followed Minerva's retelling of their afternoon, and how she jumped in to add a detail the other woman missed to tell them about. She seemed better than he'd seen her in… well, since a very long time ago. And she was still his student then, and he didn't notice how light coated her hair, or how long her legs were. He saw her now, still skinny but getting healthier, her skin recovering well and acquiring a soon to be healthy sheen. She was almost there, physically. Almost healthy. The tremors would stay for longer, he knew, but the rest, it was magic how fast she had recovered. Six weeks and she was almost back to what some might call normal strength. Of course, he knew Hermione Granger's normal level of energy was nowhere close to this definition of normal he was pondering, but this was a different Hermione. She would soon be well, and it was fantastic.

Little did he know that the afternoon's events left Hermione in an unusually confident state of mind as well as bringing about a general improvement. She loved the perk in her step, discovered during her hunt for new tempting areas of Muggle science. She loved the feeling that her muscles were finally listening to her brain and she didn't feel tired all the time. She has been sitting or lying down for the better part of her recovery so far and this was another great victory over her almost surely dire destiny.

There was still the potion… she knew it helped her immensely, keeping the night terrors at bay, but she did sleep a little calmer each night. All in all, she was getting better, and it made her feel strong, calm and centred. She felt like a winner.

And so she made her first grave mistake, and overestimated her strength.

It was past midnight when Severus awoke to the sound of her screams, a sound so horrific as it filled the damp summer night' air with the released anguish and pain.

Stumbling out of his transfigured couch/bed in the library, he went to her door, unlocking them and barging inside before his brain had time to process the situation.

She was writhing in bed, her sheets tangled around her legs as she kicked and screamed unidentifiable curses on her nightmare captors. He cast a quick Muffliato and, leaving the door open, rushed to her bedside. He noticed the half-empty bottle of Dreamless Sleep on the night table.

"Foolish girl," he mumbled as he ran his wand a couple of times over her distressed body.

She calmed, but still cried silently, and her body shook.

He noticed the beam of light widening and turned to see a sleepy Remus with a worried look on his face.

"She lowered her dosage," Severus answered in lieu of the other man's silent question. "I silenced the room in hopes she would not wake Teddy up."

"You did right. He is asleep still, Tonks went to check on him."

At that moment, Dora appeared next to Remus. She was about to ask the same questions, but Remus just pointed out the bottle of potion at the bedside table. She shook her head in sadness. "Merlin…. Well, you can't blame her for thinking it would be ok. She had a good day. And she is eager to hope for more."

"I think it's best we get back to bed luv," Remus whispered into Dora's hair and took her hand, leading her out of the room. Severus nodded, then turned back to tend to Hermione. With each passing of his wand, each spell murmured, her shaking lessened and her breathing steadied. When the Lupins were out of the range of the Silencing spell, they shared a look and a few whispered words of hope that their friend would one day have his affections returned. They closed the door behind them.

Severus did all he could without waking her up, but half an hour later, it was still not enough. She was shaking, less than when he found her by a mile, but still, he was worried. He couldn't be sure her nightmare was retreating. He took her hand and held her for a minute or two, feeling her body relax at the touch.

Odd, he thought, the girl avoided touch. He was still relieved. Taking a seat on the side of her bed, he watched her, and tried to seep his energy into her tiny palm.

With a weight pressing heavily on his soul he decided to leave her asleep, her body appearing to be calm enough to indicate that she had exited the realm of the nightmare.

He would have woken her up, but it was dangerous to do so under the influence of Dreamless Sleep and when she was obviously in the ropes of her terrors.

He walked out slowly, lifting the Muffliato and closing the door behind him with a soft click. He brushed his palm over his sleep-deprived face, and he was just about to get back to his watch-post in the library when shuffling, closely followed by whimpers and the blood-freezing sound of tears of a broken woman stopped him in his tracks.

He ran the few feet back to her door and opened it not so gently, to be faced with a sight that saddened him and made him curse himself at the same time.

He should not have left her.

She was huddled on the floor in the corner underneath the window, arms hugging her knees, glorious warm chestnut waves cascading as a shield around her frail body. He remembered with bitterness how almost healthy she had seemed to him just that afternoon. Right now, she was the epitome of a ghost clinging barely to its flesh, all of her strength vanished, all of her hopes suffocated.

He came to her, kneeling on the floor in front of her slowly, trying his damnest not to frighten her further. The moonlight shone brightly through the open curtains, its light throwing a bizarre counterbalance on the obvious darkness of her dreams.

"Hermione…" he whispered trying to hide the pain in his voice and failing miserably.

She shook her head, murmuring "No, no, no…", her face still hidden in the imaginary safety of her pulled-up knees.

"Hermione…." he tried again, itching to touch her, but knowing it would be a grave mistake. "Wake up, you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you…" He felt such rage as the words left him lips, quietly, not to frighten her. He wanted to kill the Carrows all over again, using his bare hands this time. He wanted to break into Azkaban and do indescribable things to lucky bastard that got away with just a dementors' kiss.

She whimpered, and he noticed a trail of tears streaming down her legs in the moonlight.

One last time, he tried. "Darling, wake up. Please, wake up…" he whispered, his own eyes falling to the floor.

She lifted her head, her vision blurred, and her ears buzzing. She could not identify the words that woke her, only that she felt so safe to hear them spoken. The energy of the words pierced her dreams, and she blinked once, twice, clearing her eyes.

She hurt. Her lungs felt assaulted, and she was thankful her back was supported by the wall. She could not move, so she did the only thing she could.

"Severus…" she whispered for the man who infused her with such safety day after day, and had woken her, pulled her out of her nightmare this night. His bowed head lifted and maroon tired eyes met sad black ones.

He dared not to breathe. Her eyes were clear, she was awake, and it seemed to him that she could see into his deepest vaults. Where he kept his love, his anguish, his hope for her.

She reached for him, and he took her hand.

Their first touch.

The moonlight shone over them and he was suddenly aware of his state of undress. His black pyjama bottoms covered at the waist by a loosely half buttoned shirt.

And then all he was aware was her hair falling over his partially nude chest, flowing, sliding over his taut skin as she wrapped herself into his welcoming embrace and sobbed tears of relief.

"Severus…" she murmured over and over again as her arms sneaked around his torso, clinging to the safety, the warmth, the soothing arms of the man she instinctively understood could never harm her.

Minutes passed. To Severus, it was an eternity.

He held her, soothed her with unidentifiable whispers and slow caresses as she cried her misery out, at last. It was like soothing a baby out of a particularly draining dream. It seemed it would last forever.

It was a long time after her tears were replaced with soft heaving, and then tired sobs, that he dared to move her. He picked her up off the floor, carried her to her bed and lay her down.

She reached for him, and her sleepy eyes met his' in the soft light. She pleaded with him, her hand not letting his arm go, and he nodded, damning himself and thanking whatever deities he could think of at the same time. She pulled him in, and he lay next to her, feeling like a traitor, like he was abusing the situation. But it wasn't important how he felt now.

He lay on his back and she curled on her side close to him, her nest of curls finding its home on his chest once again.

She let out a peaceful sigh, and then she was falling, deep into darkness, but a safe, welcoming darkness.

He lay awake, his mind and body in turmoil, his soul aflame. In her bed, with her in his arms. Holding her. Rubbing her back gently. Protecting her. By her choice.

She touched him.

She held onto him.

She chose him.

So he lay there, vigilant. Awake. Dreamless. So that her dreams, if they come, be good ones.


	7. Dawn

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.

**Author's note:** Thank you for your support and for reading this story. It blows me away each and every time I click the review button to see your thoughts.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

**Dawn**

He knew she was waking up even before she stirred. Her breathing changed, and he closed his eyes, suddenly unable to face her. Would he see fear, terror in her irises? Will she be disgusted by his presence in her bed? Will she run away from him, her instincts igniting her defence mechanisms at the presence of another body so close to her? He would have left before she woke up, but any attempt of untangling her arms went poorly.

She clung to him, not relinquishing the contact even when dreams plagued her again later in the night.

He murmured calming nothings into her hair, rubbed his palm over her back until she calmed. In her sleep, she slid her arm higher until her palm rested on his shoulder and then slipped into a deeper sleep.

She hadn't woken again, didn't even come close to it.

Come dawn, she was draped over him as a child would be over his favourite blanket. Sheets were long discarded, and it was his limbs she used as her safety comforter. Her knee rested on his right thigh, the soft cotton of her light blue pyjama bottoms warming the skin it lay over. He was painfully aware of her not so sensible spaghetti strapped top and the rhythmic wave of her breasts as she released her every breath.

She slept in his arms as a lover would, he supposed. Not that he knew. He never had the privilege to wake up with the woman he spent the night with, not had he wished to do so with the women who had shared his bed before this night. He closed his eyes in bitterness.

How far from lovers were they at this moment… But still, he felt the weight of her torso pressed against his', and how his breathing matched hers in those few precious hours he was allowed to hold her while she slept peacefully. He allowed himself a brief moment of imagination, and let his thoughts wander into a different reality. The one where she would not be afraid to be touched. To be held, awake. To be caressed. To be a lover. He wondered if that moment would ever come, and sadness overwhelmed him. The firm belief that he would surely not be the one to hold her then was almost unbearable, but he, as usual, as always, pushed those thoughts away.

He was not important. He was never important enough to be granted such pleasure. He dared not to wish it now.

The brief moment his thoughts wandered away from the presence of the young woman in his arms were enough for him to miss the first fluttering of her eyelids. He could not see that her irises were now clear and focused on the short black hair dusting the exposed beginning of his forearm. He didn't realize she was observing every open inch of his skin. The hint of a collarbone peaking under his two top unbuttoned shirt buttons. The spattering of tiny scars over his fingers on the hand that lay over her smaller one on his left shoulder.

She woke up feeling… warm. Very warm, and slightly uncomfortable. The air in the room was heavy, and the soft breeze coming through the window hinted of yet another day of sweltering heat. Her limbs would have screamed for her to move, even the slightest bit, but, and she would be thankful for that later, it still took her muscles a while to react to the requests of her mind.

So the first she managed to do was to open her eyes.

She was met with a mountain of flesh, moving, breathing flesh, liberally covered with a dark blue pyjama of the finest silk.

And she knew it was him. She knew it was real, and her dreams came rushing back to her. The pain, the horror, the anguish… she was running, hid somewhere, she was not sure where, and there he was. He made it all better. He made her feel safe.

And he was real, here, and obviously asleep.

Severus.

How strange the world seemed to her. He was not her Potions teacher. No, the man holding her in his arms now bore very little resemblance to the serious man in perpetual black no one ever really knew, or so she had thought back then. This man, the one whose presence hadn't scared her, whose arms she felt as a shield, not shackles around her, was the man she met six weeks ago. He was sitting by her hospital bed in the dead of the night, and she woke up, her limbs screaming, the pain blinding.

"_It hurts…" she whispered only half-aware of her situation, not managing to say more in her weakened state._

"_I know…" he murmured, and his hand covered hers, resting on the simple white cotton hospital bed sheet. "Close your eyes," he added. _

_And as he murmured spells, she felt the pain ebb, and slipped back into welcome nothingness._

She would never forget that voice. She knew that voice. She would always trust that voice.

He still didn't know she remembered the night.

She overheard the Healers telling Remus and Tonks that she would not have recollections of the hours when sedated. They sedated her to give her the invasive reparative potions therapy. There was a lot to heal. Internal damage. They thought it would be enough to simply sedate her. Didn't they know she was crucioed so much that a standard sedating charm would not work well enough on her torn nerves? Didn't they understand? But he did. He understood. And held vigilant by her bedside, disillusioned, making her go to sleep over and over again whenever the charm broke.

She would never forget that voice. It was Severus, she knew from the first day. And he still didn't know she remembered that night…

A sigh escaped her lips, and it was enough to alert him.

He stiffened, his hand still covering hers, but a fear washed over him and he made a move to break the contact.

"No…" she whispered, slipping her small palm from its place and moving it on top of his bigger one. "Don't."

He relaxed a little and, without a word more, they lay awake, together, for what seemed like an eternity to him.

His mind was reeling. Why hasn't she fled? Screamed at him? Kicked him out of her bed, the house, her life?

"You smell nice…" she said at last, chuckling softly.

The phrase seemed so odd, so out of place, it was the last thing he thought he would hear next from her and it threw him completely off his axis. He was still unable to say a word. He felt uncomfortable, he didn't know what to do with his arms or if he should move or not. He dared not do anything out of fear that this somehow idyllic, but obviously real moment would burst.

Suddenly she was aware of his tension, and it made her feel terribly self-conscious. "I'm sorry," she murmured, rolling away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the window. Another flashback of last night blazed in front of her eyes. Him; picking her up, cradling her to his chest, and the overpowering feeling of being safe, protected, cloaked in somebody else's coat of armour.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…I…I threw myself at you…" she was rambling now.

He was out of bed and on his knees in front of her in a flash. His discomfort quickly forgotten when faced with her obvious reaction to it, and the terrible pain in his soul brought on by the loss of contact. He could slap himself for such foolishness. Couldn't he know she would feel it?

"Hermione…" he rasped, his voice still raw, unused.

She just shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "What you must think of me…" she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. She rubbed angrily at them, chasing them away.

"Hermione, look at me," he said more firmly now, and she lifted the wet pools of amber and gold to meet his' determined gaze. He took a deep breath and brought his hands close to hers, not touching, asking permission. She placed her palms in the welcoming safety of his', and he brought them together in his gentle clasp.

"Never…. Never be sorry. Not for this," he said, and she shuddered when he opened his gaze and let her see, if only for a moment, how deep his intentions were.

They were silent for a long while, just looking at each other, her hands in his', their eyes connected.

"What is this?" she asked finally.

"Whatever you want it to be."

"I… I don't know what I want," she stuttered, breaking their contact, rising from bed. She stumbled a little, her knees at their usual weak point in the morning.

He was next to her and holding her up before she could reach for the headboard. His arm wrapped around her waist, and this time neither thought about the touch, so natural it seemed.

On weak legs she reached the window. He stayed a few steps back, awaiting her words.

She turned and saw him. His clothes were crumpled, and she could see wet, salt rimmed stains on his half buttoned shirt. Tearstains. Her tears had made those. And she was again reminded this was not her Potions professor. And the thought was enough for her to let the tension go. She walked slowly back to him, until she could feel his breath on her skin. It soothed her.

With eyes on his chest and her arms dangling loosely on her sides, she spoke softly. "It hurt so much, that first night, and you were there… I know it was you… I can't…" she stumbled over her words, but pushed them out nevertheless. "I don't know what I can say. I can't think about this. I don't want to analyze this."

"Then don't," he rumbled above her. She still didn't dare to meet his eyes.

"Tell me what to do," she said at last, and looked up at him.

His heart ached at the sight of her. He reached his hand slowly and caressed her cheek. "Go change into your day clothes. Pick out a book you would like to read and come down. And I'll go make us tea."

She watched this man, and some little thing that lay in pieces inside of her started to mend itself.

He stepped back and walked to the door.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" he turned, the sound of his name falling off her lips making his breath hitch the smallest bit.

"Can you make us some toast?"

He smiled. "Certainly."


	8. Need

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.

**Author's note**: Thank you for reading! Sorry for the long delay in posting this, real life has been super busy for the last two weeks.

So… Hope you like this! Comments are much appreciated!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

**Need**

She smiles to herself, and they all think it's the book she's reading. Some muggle children's book that has become quite the hit during the last decade. It is a great book actually, but it serves at the moment only as a cover for the real reason why she is in such good spirits.

She is sitting in the garden, a cashmere pashmina dyed in shades of copper and gold wrapped gently around her shoulders. It is an unusually cold evening, especially considering the heat of the previous days. But the afternoon rain shower finally brought along some welcome release, chasing them into the house, but making the evening absolutely perfect.

Not that the day had been any more strenuous than usual. In fact, after her turbulent night, she was surprised that all that Tonks asked her was if she was feeling better.

Hermione let the book fall into her lap as a sudden feeling of remorse washed over her. She had been reckless with the potion. She thought she could handle the smaller dosage. The images of her nightmare were a blur, thankfully, but she was still aware of all the emotions that had trapped her, would have held her trapped for so much longer if Severus hadn't heard her.

She was still filled with puzzlement at what had transpired between them. The night, her fears, her panic, all disappearing at the first touch of his skin. It was a most welcome relief, but she could still not understand what made her believe him so much. Yes, her mind offered dozens of answers, and she acknowledged them all, but her reaction to him was primal, completely physical. He just felt so right, and she had finally found peace, if only for a few hours.

He watches her while she pretends to read her silly book, feels her confusion, her energy, her calmness. He wonders what has her so puzzled, but hopes the calmness comes from the good day she had had. It was a good day. Calm. Unassertive. He made them breakfast. She ate the toast he prepared and he managed to lure her into a conversation about the healing powers of cocoa beans. Silly conversation actually, but it was the first time she discussed anything belonging to the magical world with any of them. Hopefully, she did so today out of her own interest. He would have hated if she lingered on the topic just to please him.

He leaned on the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her in silence. What a weird day, especially following the night… that night. She acted so normal, or was she just very good at hiding her reactions? It seemed that she simply accepted their night together as something good, and therefore hadn't deemed it necessary to linger on it further.

He was being tormented, slowly and brutally. The scent of her skin still lingered on his neck, he could still feel the tickle of her hair while she moved in her sleep. Tormented, yes. By his thoughts, his dreams, his desires. How did it happen to him, he was not sure. He maintained a firm wall around his emotions during two decades, and then he let it shatter because of her… not even her, but memories of her. The memories were enough. And now, having her so close, feeling her every day, sensing her struggle, listening to her breath last night… it was too much, and too little all at the same time.

A man in love is a curious creature, he finally concluded, allowing himself the short moment of recognition that he was indeed in love with her. He usually managed to block that thought from his usual musings, knowing well how far they were from anything happening between them in 'real life'.

The nights were a different story. The couch in the library became his bed a long time ago, earning a raised eyebrow from Remus and a heart warming look from Tonks from time to time, but Hermione didn't know that. Didn't know he couldn't sleep in his room anymore out of fear that he would be too far away if she needed him. A fear confirmed last night. Didn't know he had to be there. That he had no choice anymore. She didn't know a thing.

And yet, she fell into his arms last night, slept peacefully in the embrace of a man who was, in her eyes, a recently discovered friend to her. He wondered in she could feel his affections. Was he transparent? Could she know? Judging by the looks Remus sent his way, it was a possibility, if not yet, then in the near future. He shuddered at the thought of her discovering it. Surely she would run from him. Run from them.

Yes, he has yet again found himself in the same sad predicament, loving a woman out of his reach, and standing silent on the outskirts of her life. But was she really out or his reach? What was her life? What would be her life now that she had started to heal?

So many questions.

So deep was his attention on her that he barely noticed Tonks walking up to him and placing a comforting hand over his shoulder.

"Severus, Teddy has a special request for you," she started, her smile soft and growing as she noticed the dark man's features relax at the thought of the small boy.

"Let me guess… it's the one about the cat again," he murmured trying not to disturb Hermione's attention with their conversation.

Dora chuckled. "I believe so. He says you can do the voices best."

"Serves me right, for getting him used to it. As it is progressing, the boy might well end up in Hufflepuff," he said with mock disdain.

"Hey!" Dora exclaimed, but her voice carried no real offence. "He misses you, you know," she added softly.

Severus let a long breath out before he continued the conversation. "I have been here…" he starts, but a look from Dora makes him pause. "… I miss him too. A true Huff that one is, I tell you. Grows on you quickly if you let it," he said, his eyes carrying just a shade of humour and a greater amount of remorse in them. "I am sorry for not spending more time with him lately… I've been… distracted."

She smiled. "So I see. Then it's a good thing he has such a forgiving disposition. Go tuck him in Severus, then join me for tea in the kitchen. We should talk," she said, and this time he knew she had a more serious topic in mind.

He nodded softly before glancing once more towards Hermione. A reassuring squeeze on his bicep made him relax a bit and he found himself walking upstairs a moment later.

Later that night Hermione climbed the stairs to her room after saying goodnight to Remus and Tonks. Her mind still on the couple, she wondered if she would ever be anywhere near their positions. When she left them, each had their own cup of tea in hand, Remus sitting in the oversized chair in front of the fireplace and Tonks resting relaxed on the floor, her head leaning casually on his knee as his fingers played with her pink hair. They were so normal, so relaxed and happy, to the point of taking each other for granted in many different situations. She wondered if she would ever be able to take anything for granted, let alone be that comfortable with another person. A man.

Her thoughts turned to Severus. She had felt safe with him. Comfortable. She tried not to think about it too much during the day, the sheer absurdity and yet the overwhelming normalcy of their situation making her mind reel. Why did he come to her? Why did he sleep with her? Who was he to her now? An old potions professor? Definitely not, that was the only thing she was sure of. A friend? Maybe. A calming presence? Absolutely. But why did he treat her with such tenderness? There was no pity in the way he looked at her, that short moment when she felt sucked into his own eyes in the still of the night. No, there was something else. An empowering gentleness, warmth she would never imagine him capable of, even now as she knew a different side of him. A warmth that made all her fears go away, and gave her the courage to reach for his hand and invite him to her bed. Was he like that, when all his protective barriers fell off? Who was this Severus? And why was she dreading the idea of spending this night in her bed alone?

He stood by the window in his room, which was an uncommon occurrence since the hour was late; pondering a conversation he had with the Lupins after putting young Theodore to sleep. The wolf had waited for him together with his offspring, a soft conversation between father and son a warming sight as he entered Teddy's room. Remus hadn't questioned his appearance, only caressed Teddy's head and gave the book to Severus.

"_Let's have a glass of Ogden's in the library later," he said._

"_I have to disappoint you, your lovely wife already has my teacup ready in the kitchen for later."_

_Remus smiled. "It seems that great minds think alike," he said._

"_Nosy minds in the correct phrase, I believe," Severus retorted, not wanting to delve further into this conversation at that point. He waved Remus away, but nodded at his questioning glance. "Later," he added, as the wolf was on his way out._

_And indeed later they had met, not in the library but the sitting room. The sight of his friends in a comfortable silence in front of the fireplace a heart warming, yet at the same time almost painful sight. Not out of jealousy, nor envy, but painful for he too had recently admitted to himself that this was what he desired as well for himself, and knew quite well that it was almost impossible for him to ever have it. _

"_Severus," Dora greeted him softly as he took a seat opposite from her and Remus. His eyes escaped to the back terrace, but before he could ask, Remus answered his question with "You just missed her. She has gone to bed."_

_He remained silent, his mind already anxious at the thought of her spending another night as the last one, before he had come and woken her up. _

"_Let's hope it'll be a peaceful night for her," Dora said, her eyes fixed on Severus'. _

"_Just ask," Severus sighed after another pregnant pause. _

"_We don't mean to meddle, or be nosy." It was Remus who said the words, but Severus found that both of his friends wore identical sincere expressions on their faces._

"_I am actually more worried about you at this point," Dora added softly. _

"_Me?" Severus asked, genuinely surprised. "There is nothing to worry about me. I am a mere tool in this scenario," he added, more to himself than to them. _

_It would have been unimaginable to anyone that this kind of conversation was possible between the three of them a year ago, but at this point no one out of the small group felt the need to hide their thoughts and emotions from the other two. Especially when they involved the wounded but healing young woman upstairs in her room._

"_Surely you don't believe that," Remus prodded gently although he feared that Severus did believe it. _

"_I am not a fool Remus," Severus said gently, his eyes finding the crack in the window frame suddenly very interesting. _

"_There is no foolishness in the way you feel about her," Dora said, but he hadn't looked back at them. _

"_It would be foolish to hope. So I don't. Not even when something like last night occurs. She just wants safety, and that I can give her. Anything she asks, I will give her. But I am not a fool to think she would ever ask of me what I would most desire to bestow upon her."_

"_Even you have your breaking point. Do you honestly believe she won't see the love in your eyes? And why are you so convinced it would be a bad thing?" Remus's words were gentle, but uncomfortably true. _

"_I am not to her who she is to me wolf," Severus said, using the moniker as a verbal sign of agitation that started to form in his mind over this conversation. _

"_Funny you say it like that… those were the exact same thought I once had about Dora," Remus said softly, his hand finding his wife's as she reached for him. _

"_Dora was never broken like this," Severus almost whispered, shuddering at the thought of anything like that happening to anyone, let alone another woman he loved dearly._

"_Even as broken as she is, she seeks comfort from you. She trusts you, or am I mistaken? Did you not stay with her last night? For a woman as hurt as she was, to show such level of trust… are you aware how much you could heal her by letting her see the love inside of you?"_

"_What could I give her?" he asked them both. Perhaps it was the tiredness, the late hour or his sheer exhaustion with this conversation that made him ask such a brutally honest question. To bare his soul like this. But those were his friends, his family, and he trusted them, although it was still a new concept for him. "What could she need from me that she can't find with someone else, someone more suited, better for her?"_

_Dora smiled softly. "Can't you see? It's not about what you can give her. It's what she can take from you. We are all different, and need different things. It sometimes takes up a long time to admit to ourselves what we need, but eventually all of us do admit it. We seek it out. I am not saying that she will, but if you're not open to it, then you have denied yourself the possibility to be truly happy. And I would hate for it to pass you my friend. If anyone deserves it, you do."_

Did he? Deserve such harmony as the Lupins obviously shared? Such contentment, such happiness? What mundane thoughts. Or, they would have been mundane if he hadn't dared to listen to them. Perhaps before, in a different time, he would have dismissed them on the spot, but now, a couple of hours later, Dora's voice still lingered in his ear.

'_Can't you see? It's not about what you can give her. It's what she can take from you.'_

He would give her whatever she wished to take from him. He understood it was not a selfish taking Dora had spoken about, but an exchange that always began with the woman seeking out the man and the man providing what the woman needed. Such ancient laws, but still universally true. And he could see himself in this story. He could see himself giving Hermione what she wanted, whatever she wanted. But in reality, if a situation arose, would he be able to remove his walls and offer himself to her, in whatever form she needed him?

His door opened without a knock, and he turned abruptly, surprise mixed with automatic attention as he glanced towards his wand.

And then he saw her, the shell of a woman, her bare arms wrapped around her chest, shielding her from the night' cold and from the world around her. But her eyes…. Her eyes bore into his', pleading, asking, daring with the force of a storm bubbling to crack and drown the Earth. She was shaking, more from the audacity to come to him than from fear of stepping so far out of her comfort zone.

She was asking to take from him. She was asking for peace, for comfort, for warmth.

She was here, not an illusion, not a dream, but a flesh and blood manifestation of his innermost fears and hopes all melted into one extraordinary sight.

He opened his arms in invitation and she ran to him, a sigh mixed with a sob escaping from the depths of her lungs as she wrapped her frail arms around his waist.

"I can't take it…" she murmured. "I am afraid… it locks me into the nightmare… I can't take it if I am alone… not anymore," she mumbled into his chest, and he just now noticed the glass vial she was pressing into his side as she held it in her fist.

He let his trembling fingers reach for her cheek, and she met his eyes with so much trust, so much hope that he could make this go away, that it broke the last of his will. He could only surrender, and give her all she asked for.

"It's ok…" he whispered. With a small wave of his other hand he closed and warded the door to his room. He would sleep there this night. With her in his arms.

"Severus…" she started, but let her eyes fall to his chest, suddenly embarrassed. "Do I have to take it?" her voice was so soft, that if it weren't for the warmth of her breath on his chest, he might have missed her words.

"It is too soon to stop taking it," he said softly, and slowly took her hand in his, the one holding the vial, and peeled her fingers off the potion. He noticed it was the half-dose from yesterday. He smiled softly. "I see you are determined to have it your way whatever the case," he said, pointing at the half mark.

She smiled, her head still down, almost resting on his chest even as he held the potion for her to see.

"Very well. Half."

Her eyes shot to him. "But then… I mean, can I? May I?" her cheeks were suddenly flushed, and she struggled not to look away. Struggled with all her might not to crawl back into the comforting cocoon she hid in for too long.

"May you what?" he asked, needing to hear her say it. His voice barely above whisper, he struggled to stay calm, although he held onto her as tightly as she held onto him, his hands shaking as much as hers.

"Stay with you?" she said softly, and the love that shone from his eyes washed over her like a wave of warmth she could not yet recognise for what it truly was.

"Anytime you wish to."


	9. Our little secret

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.

**Author's note:** Thank you for reading! I love your comments, you are the best!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

**Our little secret**

She glanced out the window disinterestedly while she reached for a t-shirt to wear to bed. The evenings have become chillier as August sneaked away, and she wouldn't have noticed but for these quiet moments alone. The nights were, probably, equally if not more cold, but she was blissfully unaware of that. Her nights were warm, spent in secrecy in a place that called out to her every evening around bedtime.

This night was no exception. The difference was that she had made peace with it and stopped fighting it. The urge to go there yet again, to seek the warmth and safety only became stronger as the day progressed.

She took off her slippers, because bare feet made less noise to the attuned werewolf' ears in this house. Almost as an afterthought, but only almost, she grabbed her potion from the night stand.

The door didn't creek, thankfully. The hallway was almost dark, a faint ray of moonlight sneaking in through a window somewhere, the light finding its way to her floor in some unexplainable manner.

She turned the doorknob, and pushed in, finding it unlocked, again. Waiting for her. Open to her, for her. Inviting.

Her eyes swept over the room gently, noticing the discarded quills on the small desk, the half-finished glass of Ogden's. A few parchments. A soldier-boy toy. She giggled at the sight.

He sat in bed with his slim reading glasses perched on his nose, holding a magazine in one, and a quill in the other hand.

Finally her eyes met his' and she closed the door. He put the magazine and the quill down, waved his hand and the doorknob turned on its own. If she could feel it, she would have felt the wards go up, successfully protecting their little secret from the world outside.

They never spoke until she was in his arms, and tonight was no exception. Only, this time her walk to the bed was steady, practiced during the last weeks they have been engaging in this little arrangement. Her eyes no longer wondered if she was crossing any lines, or if this was the night he would look at her and see her for who she was… a used up rag. She begun to believe him, believe in him, to recognize the warmth in his eyes as something genuine, unique, something she was still afraid to delve further into, but knew there was so much more underneath.

She knelt on the bed and he turned the covers down, taking off his reading glasses with his other hand.

She slipped in next to him as if it was her rightful place, as if she belonged there since forever, as if this was not just another proof how pathetic she was. But she didn't care. As she moved in into his inviting arms, she didn't care how she found herself there.

They never talked about this either. She wanted, but didn't have the courage to speak. As if voicing it would make their situation suddenly too real. He had told her that first night… _"Anytime"._ And he also never tried to mention the obvious fact that she was sharing his bed for three weeks now.

She accepted that some things were better left unsaid, and that many things could be felt in silence. Surely, they spoke, of little things, of literature, of her likings and his bedtime rituals.

"Severus?" she whispered after she was securely wrapped both in his arms and the comforter.

"Hmmm?" he said in reply, trying to sound casual. In truth, there was nothing casual about it, for he always feared that a moment will come when she would ask him why he let her sleep in his bed. And he would not be able to lie to her. Then she would be gone, and he left alone as he was for years and years before the strange game of fates brought her into his arms on that one fateful night.

"When was Teddy here?" she asked, turning slightly to look at the soldier-boy toy.

He let out a slow breath of relief. She won't ask. Not tonight. Good. "Right after dinner. He demanded I play with him, bringing a whole army of those little things in here. Horses and all."

She chuckled. He adored that sound. Especially when something he said made her produce it. "And? Who won?"

He smiled, although she couldn't see it. His hand slowly brushed her side over the comforter. His smile grew when she relaxed into him, rather than shy away from his gesture. "Even I am not that cruel to beat a three year old boy in a game of battle."

She let out a long breath, the warmth of it tickling his chest, the soft vibrations of her murmur as she spoke too distracting for him to understand her words.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"I said you are not cruel."

His heart skipped at her words. Sure, this was not the first time she bestowed a compliment of his character upon him, and she always did it casually, almost as an afterthought, giving him no reason to doubt her words. She said it as if it was something completely normal to say, and for him to hear, when in fact Severus Snape had never before in his life been awarded compliments of any kind on a daily basis. She always had a kind word for him, a touch, a thought. He was falling so madly in love with her whole being that he was discovering new depths of his restraint every night when her leg brushed his. He loved her mind, her hair, her soul and her eyelashes, in such a disarrayed order, and he never stopped to think a moment about it. No, if she could lay with him every night and not question it, he could love her in any way her felt inside and not question it. Trust was something he had been learning from her, every day and every night.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"How much?"

Always the same question. At first he wondered why she made such a big issue over her potion, but now he understood. It was the first of many areas of her life she was desperately struggling to regain control over.

And then, added softly, but only to the untrained ear. "Could we try less?"

He smiled. "I think we could try one third of a dosage."

Her reaction was instant, and not thought out. Her reaction was part childish exuberance, part feminine triumph. Seeing both emotions so evidently displayed on her face brought forth a special kind of pride to swell in his lungs. For he was the first, and the only one to see it on her beautiful face.

In a flash, she sat up, her eyes boring into his' with such joy, and then she was squishing him, her hair in his face, over it, everywhere, her arms sneaking under his torso, trying to hug him with everything she had in her. Her legs now resting on either side of him, although she didn't pay any attention to it at the moment, and neither did he. He just let himself savour her moment of joy, let his arms wrap around her as he returned her embrace.

She lifted her head to face him, her lips so dangerously close to his', not that she noticed. With a grin as wide as her heart, she said "That means I am getting better."

He returned her smile with his own, and it was a full smile. A gentle smile. Something only she was privileged to see. "You are getting better."

In a split of a second she became aware of the way she was straddling him, the way he was holding her, the way his lips looked so soft and inviting.

She sat up and moved away from him, masking her escape in an attempt to grab the potion.

"I'm sorry," she whispered while looking at the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the vial of her potion with a half dosage inside.

He ran his hand through his hair, sighed and stood up, taking a different, slightly smaller vial out of the drawer of his nightstand. Solemnly, he walked to her and knelt on the floor between her knees.

"Hermione, look at me."

She shook her head, gritting her teeth while trying to hold in the tears that appeared out of nowhere.

"Look. At. Me." He whispered again, slower, softer.

"I can't talk about this… don't make me talk about this," she said, her voice not masking the fear and despair that poured out of her.

"I won't make you do anything. Although I would like for you to take this," he said, placing a smaller vial in her palm and taking the other one she held.

"This is one-third of a dose," she said, looking at the bottle. "How did you?" She asked, meeting his eyes. There was so much pain in her eyes.

"I hoped this would be the night you asked for it," he answered softly, taking her hands in his'. "You see, only you know when you are ready to lower the dosage. I just had faith that you would ask for it."

"You have too much faith in me," she whispered, a tone of defeat in her voice.

"I could never have too much faith in you," he said as he rose off the floor and took her with him. "Now, let's go to sleep. Hopefully the first dream will come sooner with the smaller dosage and we can rest longer afterwards."

She was still having nightmares every night, and every night he was there when she shook in terror, woke up in cold sweat clinging to him, sometimes screaming, sometimes whimpering. But with time, the nightmares lessened in intensity. Now she was coherent from the moment she woke up, she knew where she was and who she was with. She knew the dreams were her past. It was progress.

"What if it gets worse?" she whispered in fear. She didn't want it to get worse again.

He sighed and pulled her into his arms, holding her head gently to his chest, caressing her hair as he spoke. "I don't know if it will get worse. We will just have to tackle it if it happens. I hope it won't though. You are healing remarkably fast, and you have made such amazing progress in three weeks. There is no need to worry about something until it happens, if it even happens at all."

And perhaps it was the sound of his voice, more than the words he was saying, perhaps it was the touch of his breath on her forehead, but she relaxed and told herself that she had come this far and she would go on until she was the master of her nights once more. Secretly, she dreamed of a night when she would lay with him and fall asleep lulled by the sound of his voice or the soft light of a reading candle, not the affect of a potion that was her omnipresent crutch.

And it never even occurred to her to further investigate the fact that he was still in her bed at that illusory moment in her daydreams.


	10. Revelations and Invitations

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.

**Author's note:** I HAVE A BETA! It's the wonderful Tzee, she is working on the story from the beginning, and will hopefully catch up soon. I will be replacing chapters as she goes over them.

Thank you for reading! I love your comments, you are the best! I know I skimmed a lot of potential scenes in the first part of this chapter, but I hope you will forgive me. Right now I am trying to set something more solid between our main characters, and do not wish to break the flow of the text with supportive character' scenes too much. As my Beta said, there is much to go over before I get to the 'meat' of my story.

Also, fair reminder that Severus is, in my head, a 38 year old Alan. Yes, I know how he looked like back then. ** evil grin** Snape is 38, non? Thus making my logic perfect.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**9**

**Revelations and Invitations**

They act normal as days go by.

Day after day, meal after meal, tea time with family, visits with Minerva.

Weasley comes, and Severus is watching them like a hawk as they talk in the garden, just waiting for a flinch of her brow to give him the excuse to throw the boy out on his merry arse.

The redheaded dunderhead is trying to 'be there for her' and 'show support' but he is terribly off on one important point. Hermione doesn't appreciate being reminded that she was a victim.

Finally, the boy leaves and Severus has to admit, as much as it irritates him, that Ron's visit did her good.

She seems content. She didn't let Ron touch her for long, as if the touch itself was insulting. No hugs, barely a peck on the cheek at hello and goodbye.

He is still trying to understand that part of her healing process. He had noticed before the afternoon with Weasley that her reactions varied greatly depending on who she was with. She would let Minerva touch her hand without flinching now, the incident from the early days of her recovery incomparable to the level of physical trust Hermione displayed towards the older woman.

She stumbled the week before last and hurt her ankle. Remus carried her to her room, and she welcomed his help, not the least worried about the expected physical closeness.

But whenever Dora brushes her hand over Hermione's shoulder, or when Teddy runs by her, she tenses. It is almost imperceptible, but it's there.

He is puzzled. Especially when she climbs into his bed night after night and falls asleep allowing him to stand guard at the gate of her nightmares.

Another day passes, and another.

Harry and Ginny come and it is the first time Hermione gets wrapped up in a conversation about something magical, even if it's a stupid discussion against baby brooms.

Severus is yet again trying to be a passive bystander, but it's harder with Potter being more adult than he himself would imagine the boy capable of. They are actually starting to form a bond, in a weird sense of the word. He sees more and more brains behind his green eyes. Eyes that still remind him of Lily, but the emotion is only a vague remnant of the past force that kept him going during the boy's school years.

Every night is a small step forward for Hermione. A nightmare is shorter than the one from the night before, and where once was a scream now only a whimper escapes.

She still takes one third of the potion, but it's a milestone and she knows it.

One night they try a quarter dose, and it is the night when they both realize that even steady progress can't be pushed.

That night is terrible. Almost unbearable. In a weird twist of fate, the quarter-dose does to her what they feared the half-dose would do. She remains locked in her nightmare, and Severus goes almost mad in his attempts to pull her out of it.

It's the first night he cries openly with her.

It almost kills him, but he would be a hypocrite to compare his suffering to hers.

After that she is even too cautious while taking her third-dose. She patiently waits for the last drop of the potion to fall on her tongue, and checks the vial twice before she lets it rest on the bathroom sink. Severus has a small private bathroom, courtesy of Dora, Remus and an afternoon of creative wand work. Hermione's toothbrush is in there, together with her bathrobe.

No one ever comes into her room other than herself, and any visitors to Severus's private chambers, that being Teddy usually, sometimes Dora, are fast asleep by the time they might encounter anything suspicious, like her walking to his room in her pyjamas.

Their little secret is safe.

* * *

><p>Severus brushes his hand almost casually over Hermione's bicep as he moves to stand from the table.<p>

Lunchtime at the Lupins is always a cheerful activity, with Dora and Teddy in constant argument over some or other silly vegetable. The flavour of the day is, or better said, isn't parsley. He can't blame the boy for hiding the offending vegetable in his napkin. He himself could never stand the taste of it.

"Teddy, I saw that!" once again Dora's voice rings over the hubbub and Severus turns slightly back towards the remaining occupants, his eyes catching Remus's resigned smile as he observes his wife and son's obligatory argument.

The moment of pause in his movement is enough for Hermione to lean slightly into him, the top of her back now brushing his hip.

No one notices, but them.

It's like this every day, and he is trying to get accustomed to it. He rarely makes the initial move, only when he notices that she is tense or nervous. It seems that his touch alone is enough to calm her. He doesn't understand why she chose him, but he is too grateful to delve into it further.

They never acknowledge each other openly in front of anyone else, and their touches are as casual as they were before, to the untrained eye.

Remus is bound to notice though, Severus knows that, but the werewolf seems to be unaware as of yet that something has changed. Ever since the first day Hermione came to live with them, Remus could 'smell the fear on her' as he would sometimes say.

Severus wonders if Remus can smell the lack of fear.

He makes the short walk to the pitcher of lemonade left under the cooling charm on the counter and lifts it, as well as the charm, taking it to the table.

"Thank you Severus," Dora says kindly, still distracted by her son's stubborn mind.

There is a knock on the window, and Remus goes to retrieve the letter delivered by a strangely familiar owl.

"Pig?" Hermione whispers, and her eyes show both a tint of reluctance and excitement.

Dora smiles. "No, that's Anselme, Bill and Fleur's owl. Looks a lot like Pig tho'," she says, and Hermione can't help but feel the ease seeping back into her distressed lungs.

She is not ready for another visit with Ron.

"Hm… this could be interesting," Remus comments as he unfolds the parchment. The owl has in the meantime flown to a conveniently set perch above the window. He hoots in approval after ingesting the sliver of meat given to him by Remus.

"Any news?"

"Oh yes. But first things first, who is up for some dessert?"

Severus rolls his eyes at him, but Remus only chuckles and takes a cherry tart out from the pantry a moment later.

"Hermione," Remus starts when they are all settled back into their chairs with a glass of lemonade and a piece of dessert. "Since you are now a part of the family, your input on the matter is also needed."

She gives him a small smile, a warm blush colouring her cheekbones.

"Bill and Fleur have invited us all for a week-long visit. I quote" and here he unrolls the parchment and clears his throat ceremoniously, earning a wink from hiswife_._

"…_an ungodly time has passed since we saw each other in normal conditions without my mother-in-law fawning over all of us like chickens. Victoire misses her little friend, and, although I am not sure I should mention it, Bill misses Remus, only he is too proud to admit it. There are some things he can talk to him about that I simply do not understand, and I would so love to see you all, Severus and Dora included. Our invitation extends to Hermione, naturally. The weather is so beautiful now, and we can enjoy each other's company without fear of 'unwanted' interruptions, meaning that I have convinced Bill not to say anything to his brothers. You know how overwhelming they can be, as much as I adore them, plus they see you far more often than the three of us. Anselme is instructed to wait, even if you need a few days to agree. I know how your work can be at times. Give him a mouse at dinnertime and some bacon, he is not a demanding owl. I hope you decide to come._

_Bisous__, Bill, Fleur & Victoire._

_p.s. There is a not__e enclosed for Hermione. Please make sure she gets it. Merci."_

Remus finished reading the letter and removed the small seal that kept the smaller envelope attached to the letter. With a reassuring smile he extended his hand across the table and gave Hermione her note.

She noticed her name written in Fleur's elaborate handwriting and, passing her finger shortly over the letters, she tore the seal and read the letter.

It was not so long as the one Remus had just read to them, but it said so much more to her. A few simple sentences, but enough for Hermione to know, to remember, and realize that she could rely on Fleur again as she had once in the past.

"_Ma chere, I know… We need to talk, to see each other. Please come. I understand you are different. It doesn't matter. I know more than I should about it. Femme a femme, woman to woman, there is a conversation to be had. But only when you decide. The sea is warm and I will make sure you have your privacy. I'll put the shells we collected that week into your room. I can __turn them into portkeys to the caves, which will only activate to your touch. Remember, you will always be safe in my house, ma petite."_

They all stifled the need to ask her what was written in her letter. All but Teddy, of course.

"What does it say? Will you read it to us?," he exclaimed, almost disappointed.

She smiled. "She just writes that she would very much like me to come with you," Hermione answered tactfully, avoiding the details.

"You know aunty Fleur?" Teddy asked, curious.

"Yes, I do. She is…" she paused, glancing at the letter again, a moment that didn't go unnoticed by the adults at the table "... a very dear friend."

"So you'll come with us?" Teddy let his excitement show in the pitch of his voice.

"Teddy," Dora interrupted "Your Dad and I need to see if we can get off work first."

"We do have leave time we haven't used," Remus answered in return, earning a smile from her.

"That we do my love," Dora answered softly, the desire to take this vacation evident in her tone.

"How about you Severus? Dora questioned turning to him. "I know you are not a man of crowds, but I hope you can join us. They are really nice people, and I am sure you will have your peace there."

"Mrs. Weasley's promise that there would not be an invasion of other members of her husband's family is tantalizing, I must say," he started, pretending to ponder the thought when in truth he had already decided to accept. "I always wondered how William managed to turn out so differently from the others."

"He is a sensible young man," Remus added, the caring obvious in his voice.

"I always claimed that Bill was your spiritual eldest child," Dora joked, and Remus took her hand over the table in his', caressing it gently.

"More like a little brother in dire need of… let's call it _furry_ advice."

Hermione was puzzled. She knew Bill was hurt by Greyback, but never knew he was transforming every month. The question was evident in her eyes, and Remus noticed.

"On yes, he does, unfortunately," he said, glancing at Teddy, reminding her it was not a topic they should discuss further in the young boy's presence. "Started later on, and the change is not complete, but it does happen."

"We should go see them. Fleur is right, it has been too long… for all of us," she added at the end. "And I would love to spend a week on the beach."

She remembered her last stay there and shuddered. Back then, she thought she'd been through hell. She was crucioed, Dobby was killed. They were barely clinging onto hope in their blind search for the horcruxes. It was such an irony that every time she went to that house, it was following a grave experience, and as a last resort.

She shook the thought off and straightened her back.

"It's time for me to visit that house and not be afraid for my life and the life of my loved ones."

Severus took her hand in his', and this time he couldn't mask their connection. He didn't even try.

Remus only raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent.

In fact, silence enveloped the lot of them, and all that could be heard was the lazy swoosh of the afternoon breeze as it tickled the willows in the neighbour's backyard.

Dora's eyes widened and the hand holding her fork froze comically half-way to her mouth.

Teddy was thankfully busy trying to turn his piece of the tart into a heap of crumbs, then building little people out of it and using cherries for their heads.

Hermione took a moment to notice each individual's reaction, and then she simply closed her eyes and sighed, bringing Severus' hand to her face and enjoying the feel of his knuckles as they brushed over her cheek. She didn't want to move away, didn't feel the slightest inclination to hide.

The silence was deafening, and it seemed to last for hours. Dora was the first one to shake it off.

One lonely fork finally met the plate again, the touch of metal to ceramic producing a nervous clink.

"Teddy love, I just remembered that uncles Fred and George sent you a special gift. It's in your room. Would you like to go play with it?" Dora said, pretending to inspect the army of cherry-headed people on Theodore's plate, but managing to keep part of her attention on Severus and Hermione.

The boy's eyes got huge. "They sent me a gift? They have the coolest toys in the world!" he exclaimed, already shuffling out of his seat. A short 'Thank you Mum' and 'Bye Mum' was heard before he disappeared in a flash up the stairs.

None of the others still hadn't uttered a word.

Sometime during Dora's exchange with her son Severus became aware that the others were looking at them. It didn't matter to him though. Hermione took _his_ hand and pulled it to _her_. She decided to step over that threshold, and he didn't have any problem with it.

It was becoming rapidly clear to him during the last weeks that she was developing an attachment to him that went beyond the initial boundaries of their relationship.

He was never one to lay too much emphasis on definitions. He'd spent the better part of his life going from one undefined situation into the other, culminating in his years as a double agent. Thus, he was now perfectly content not to question what exactly they were to each other.

Exactness when one was dealing with emotions was highly overrated, and in his opinion, served only to help draw the lines and build walls around them. He wasn't very fond of walls anymore, no matter how protective they seemed.

Hermione realized soon after her initial reaction what she'd done and how it looked like. She also realized how it felt like.

It felt good.

It felt wonderful.

The brush of his hand, so soft and tender on her skin made her tingle slightly, and it was a welcome sensation. But what made her hold his hand as the situation unfolded in front of the surprised spectators was not the touch of his hand, but the look in his eyes.

It was _her_ Severus that was looking at her.

Touching her.

Consoling her.

Giving her strength, like every night.

_Her_ Severus. The man who never asked questions, who knew everything about her dark places, but never made her overly aware of his knowledge. A man who didn't care how broken she was and made her care a little bit less when she was in his arms.

He loved her.

She saw it, as clearly as she could see the wrinkle between his eyebrows and the small crumb on his collar.

She moved her hand gently up and removed the crumb, her eyes lingering a moment on the place that hid his scar before she lifted her eyes back to his'.

He shut his eyes, and let the gesture form a silent affirmation.

He didn't expect it to happen like this. Never in his musings did he ever imagine Hermione realizing he loved her after lunch, sitting at the table with Remus, Dora and Teddy and enjoying a crumbly piece of cherry tart.

He was convinced he would be terrified at that moment she recognized the emotion in his eyes for what it was.

He wasn't.

Perhaps he was too far in it to care. He could not change it. He could not un-love her. Was this surrender? Was this letting go?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps it was because she had realized and still held his hand. In fact, she made a silly gesture to remove a piece of dessert of his high-buttoned shirt.

He should've felt embarrassed by that fact alone, if for nothing else.

He couldn't. He was at peace, and she knew.

She knew, and she acknowledged it.

Her eyes rose back to his', and a very private smile fluttered over her lips.

She couldn't find any words that didn't seem redundant. Didn't feel the need for big phrases. There were no fireworks, no clichéd heartbreaking gestures.

There were no bursts of bubbles either. No great epiphany.

She had known this, of course she had. She was diligently ignoring it, burying it under a carpet, even if the proverbial carpet was at the bottom of _his_ bed in _his_ bedroom.

For Merlin's sake, she shared a bed with him. She was not stupid. Just very stubborn in her attempt to not dwell on the feelings he obviously had for her. Because how could he love her? How could he see something worth loving in her?

But he did. And she was only able to give him a small smile of acceptance in return.

A whisper tore off her lips, completely unplanned. "Thank you," she said, recognizing the words as they were already floating in the air. Her eyes filled with all the 'Thank you's' still locked inside of her.

But he saw. He saw everything.

Remus finally cleared his throat and broke their concentration. Neither had noticed that a few minutes had passed in their silent conversation.

Severus met the eyes of his werewolf friend, finding no reprimand in them. Why he believed there would be, he honestly couldn't say. There never was. Instead, a warmth and relief shone openly, and one could easily recognize it as happiness for his friend.

Dora on the other hand lacked the subtlety her husband possessed. The smile on her face could blind crowds.

"Whoa," she finally said, as all of them found themselves in a slightly uncomfortable moment. These particular 'what now' types of situations were never particularly comfortable or easy, even in the most normal of circumstances.

"So, is it correct to assume that you two will now divulge your secret to us?" Remus asked, his eyebrows rising in amusement.

Hermione looked shocked, and Severus laughed, realizing why Remus never asked about Hermione's sudden calmness during the days. It was because he knew.

But of course he knew.

"Secret? What secret?" Dora could sometimes be so clueless.

Hermione glanced back and forth from Remus to Severus, anger bubbling deep inside of her.

"You told him?" she spat out incredulously.

"No, no my dear, do not get upset" Remus quickly jumped in before the moment escalated. They were all still tiptoeing around Hermione's ever-changing emotions. And it was not like he really knew anything. He was bluffing, to a point.

"Severus hadn't revealed any matter that is private between the two of you. I came to certain conclusions on my own, but I won't sport with your nerves any more. I don't know what you've been up to, but it is obvious that you have been healing more rapidly during the last month, as well as it is obvious that you instantly calm down when you touch him, or he touches you."

The obvious lack of surprise in Severus's eyes amused Remus greatly.

"Yes, _that_ I have noticed. But on the other hand, you are quite transparent my friend, when it comes to her." Remus said, shaking his head slightly and trying to suppress a chuckle.

After all the darkness, all the sleep deprived nights searching for Hermione they were now sharing a perfectly normal lunch on a completely boring afternoon in an equally uneventful part of London, and it was all so common, right up to the awkward talk they were now participating in.

He felt like a father watching his daughter and her boyfriend, the notion itself enough to make him chuckle, but adding to it the fact that Severus was his age, it nearly killed him to stop the bubbling laughter.

It was so normal. He wanted to weep from joy at the normalcy of it.

"I am not obvious in _any_ occasion and you are out of line," Severus slowly squeezed through his teeth, giving every word time to ring out while his own level of tension grew accordingly.

He did not want to discuss their nights over leftovers and lukewarm lemonade. And he intended to stop this conversation, now, only Hermione managed to beat him to it.

"Remus, Dora, with all due respect, and be sure that it is great, I do not wish to talk about this right now. Suffice to say, yes, Severus has been helping me heal," here she paused and stood up, taking his hand firmly in hers', making him stand up as well. "…and you will find out the rest soon enough. Now, excuse us, but I think there is a more important conversation to be had." again she paused, and locked her eyes with his'. "Alone."

Remus, his face a combination of wonderment and fatherly pride, nodded a silent approval at her words.

Dora was too stunned to comment further, and she just watched in amazement as the girl who tittered on the ledge of apathy for weeks, struggling to regain a semblance of normalcy before her eyes for the last two months suddenly took a firm stand and defended her own. Not unlike the old Hermione.

As they were left alone, Dora shared a knowing look with her husband. "I guess the cub is waking up at last," she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes.

He stood up, took her hand and pulled her into his embrace, exhaling softly and immersing himself into the welcoming warmth of her arms. "It seems so my love… it seems so."


	11. I see everything in you

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Still Jo's. I play with them. No money here.

**Author's note:** I am sorry it took me so long to update. Real life is getting interesting, and that is always good news for a freelancer, but I will try to update this at least every two weeks.

Thank you for reading! I hope you find this chapter to your liking. I struggled with this and hopefully have found a balance.

Leave me your thoughts.

Love, Anette

p.s. My Beta has serious computer issues and was unable to review this. Please be patient with any mistakes you see. I try my best.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**10**

**I see everything in you**

Another week has passed and time flew by mercilessly. A persistent chill in the early morning mist clearly announced the change of the seasons. Autumn snuck up on them, with its vibrant colours and the need for snuggling into your warmest comfort pillow.

Or the warm body of the woman you loved.

He smiled in the semi-darkness of early dawn and embraced the freshness in a drawn-out inhale. A gush of wind broke through the open window and blew his shirt further apart, making his skin tingle and his heart rush for just a moment before it calmed.

A soft moan followed by the creaking of the bed made him smile. Just for a second he stood still, facing the window, letting the smile warm his features.

"You shouldn't stand there, it's too cold. You'll catch your death," she rasped.

He laughed now openly, turning to face the sleepy eyes that somehow managed to look reproachful as they tried to focus on him.

She saw him, standing tall, pensieve, and somehow lonely. She took a long moment to check his posture, her eyes glazing his features from head to toe, making her frown at his barefooted state. It prompted her statement. And made him laugh. She liked the sound of his laugh.

"Catch my death?" He repeated, the ease still lingering around his eyes. "Isn't that something only grannies say to little children?" He teased her. It came so naturally, but he was beyond the point of questioning it.

"Come back," she said simply, all the weight of her invitation still managing to linger in the early morning chillness.

He walked slowly, buttoning up his shirt down the middle, reaching the bed as he fastened the third button. As he reached for the fourth, she stopped him, placing a palm over his hand, stilling it, stealing his breath as she did so. Without a word, she pulled his hand, effectively pulling him back into the warmth of the covers.

_Last week:_

_He took her favourite shawl from the coat hanger in the entryway and wrapped it tenderly around her shoulders__ as she stepped in front of him. She let out a soft sigh, for his ears only, as she brushed her knuckles over his warm hands as she accepted the offered warmth._

_She lifted her eyes to his' and they shared a timid smile, as if they both became suddenly aware what they were about to do. _

_She took his hand, leading him to the garden, into the promised privacy. _

_He took a long breath as he followed her. It all became suddenly so present. His emotions, so carefully hidden for so long, even from her, struggled to be voiced, admitted, acknowledged. Even as he sensed she would not find it unwelcome, he could not be certain to what extent she could, dared return it. _

_He was not prepared __for this conversation. This was too much, too soon. She was still too fragile and he could not let it all fall. _

_He was not a man of big gestures, soft words of love and devotion. __His thoughts rushed, troubled him, as he tried to prepare, decide the tone, the strength of what was safe to divulge to her now. _

_To call it love would be an understatement. _

_Who was he to dare to love her? And yet he did. And far beyond that. The admiration, the pure awe that washed over him every time images of her invaded his thoughts… the level of her sacrifice, the abhorrence of her suffering… She was perhaps the strongest person he ever had a chance to meet, and it was an opinion formed a long time before she slipped into his bed for the first time. _

_But now that he knew the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the comforting simplicity of her cotton pyjamas… he was lost in this sandstorm that her entrance caused inside his carefully guarded heart, and to put a name to how he felt was beyond his power. _

_She felt his nerves as they walked the short distance into the garden. A warm smile tittered on her lips, a smile he could not see, but a smile that made her the stronger of the two for this fleeting moment. Her mind was so clear suddenly, as if all the lost pieces found its magical way back into the bigger picture. _

_She stopped in the middle of the small bit of green, reluctantly pulling her hand out of his as she reached to readjust her pashmina, but not without regaling him with a glimpse of her smile._

_He saw it in the corners of her eyes. She was not afraid of this. He silently thanked the forces that ruled over them as he let his palm rest on her hip timidly._

_She let out a slow breath, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders and at the same time leaning into his chest._

_They stood in silence for a long time, feeling each other, their breaths falling into a synchronized pattern, their heartbeats adjusting to the same rhythm. _

"_I had a crush on you in my first year," she said softly. _

_Out of all the words that she could have chosen to start this conversation, these were not what he expected._

_She felt a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as the vibrations rolled over her back. _

_He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and she put her small hands over his'._

"_First year?" he said softly, his words leaving a tingle over the soft skin on her neck as the air that carried them flew by her._

"_Your speech…" she let out a small smile and his knees almost gave out under him at the mere sound of it. Caught in a moment of such intimacy was something Severus Snape never dared to dream before her continuous presence in his days and nights. _

"_It was supposed to scare the lot of you," he murmured, but the tone of his words carried a different message. One of amusement._

"_Well, I remember your billowing robes and frowned brow, how powerful you looked, and the way you gave us, gave me, a tingle of hope to achieve excellence…." Her voice became almost dreamlike as she carried on, almost loosing her trail of thought. _

"_And it translated into romance?"_

"_I was eleven, and I thrived on knowledge. You offered it, in a way that was utterly…" she paused, a wicked smile grazing her lips once more "… bewitching."_

"_Hmmmm…. I guess then that it was an expression of your affection when you set my robes on fire?"_

_She laughed, and he could not remember a more beautiful sound. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice much like his own reminded him that he was acting like a love-smitten fool. Thankfully, her laughter was louder than the offending voice. _

_She turned in his arms and suddenly there she was, her eyes glowing with mirth, the colour of Earl Grey and the autumn afternoon and life, rich, strong, indestructible life. _

_His warrior._

_His._

"_I never knew you figured out it was me," she said softly, reminiscing her childhood mischief. It felt like a lifetime ago, the memory bringing back others of her carefree ways. Such children they were, even amidst all the battles brewing. _

"_Hermione…" his voice drew her back, his traitorous voice, and he was again as shaken with the reality of this moment as he was when they ventured outside._

"_Shhh…." She whispered and stepped into his arms, leaning her head on his chest, inhaling all that was Severus, all that was peace and comfort and strength to her. _

"_Just hold me for a moment first," she mumbled as she wrapped her arms around his waist._

"_Always," he whispered into her hair and took this opportunity she offered, composing his thoughts, his heart._

_After all the years it was in this moment that Severus Snape realized how young his heart was. Hidden for so long, carefully put away to prevent damage, it was arrested in its protective layers, not reaching the years the rest of his body and mind did. _

_Yes, in the depths of this man lay a heart of a boy, a heart wounded so many times, so long forgotten, that being wrapped in the liberating presence of one Hermione Granger caused it to scream in abandonment, tearing its protective barriers. _

_Healing him. _

_Yes, she was healing him, and suddenly there was a ball in his throat threatening to release the flood of words he was not ready to voice, and he fought to press it in, he couldn't… he couldn't say it… yet… and he felt a tingling behind his eyes and he was not going to give in…. he was not going to give in…_

_He felt rather than saw her hands sneaking into his hair and pulling away from him at the same time as she pulled his head down until their foreheads met._

_Her eyes searching for his. His' still closed, still hiding._

_Her hands sliding down his face, cupping his cheeks, her fingertips resting on his temples._

"_Severus…" the sound brushed over his skin, as gentle and hushed as the rustle of leaves in the nearby oak tree._

_His eyes met hers and she fell deep, she fell willingly and she fell strong. Into him, to him, for him. She didn't need magic to see his thoughts. It was all there, for her to witness, to choose, to decide. The hope of a boy, the fear of a soul betrayed, the struggle of a man unaccustomed to care and be cared for. The love. Love for her, breaking out of his every other thought. _

"_You will never know how much you mean to me," he whispered at last, finding the strength to give words to something beyond description._

_He watched her face, her brilliant, glorious eyes, the recognition of his feelings and he saw, not only felt, the moment when she deemed herself unworthy._

_If he had not been holding her in his arms he would perhaps mistake her reaction to repulsion, escape, rejection, but faced with such a familiar sight, one he saw many times in the mirror, he knew he could not allow it. _

_Even as his hold on her tightened in reassurance her eyes were escaping from him, searching for the ground, the trees, any other place to hide in, because she was not worthy of such pure emotion, of such kindness, such devoted love._

_And then the words that bled, and he was not sure if it was her heart or his that was bleeding. "How can you see anything in me?"_

_He brought his palms to mirror hers, pulling her face to meet his eyes once more. "I see everything in you," he rasped, his voice broken with tension, with love, with pain. For her, for them, for the road they had to walk._

"_I am…" she started, and her eyes filled with tears, and he knew that this was it, and she was helpless to stop the pain breaking through. "Oh God… I…" she gasped, and suddenly breathing was too hard._

_With a look of pure panic in her eyes she clutched onto him. "Severus…"_

_Without another word he spun in place and they were gone._

_She fell onto her knees, and he fell with her, the grains of sand on the deserted beach the only silent witnesses to her sorrow. _

_She met his eyes, although blurred with tears, but she couldn't see it from her own tears, and she gasped his name again, and turned away from him, still on her knees, but welcomed his arms when they held her to him._

_And the howl that tore out of her chest as she mourned her crime shook the sea and the winds that joined in her devastation. _

He closed his eyes as his head touched the pillow, allowed himself a moment of selfishness as he relished the touch of her head on his half-uncovered chest. Her small palm slid down his arm and found his', and for a moment it seemed as if she was going to pull away, and then her fingers wrapped around his', and he felt like the luckiest boy on the face of the planet.

She turned to him, breathing out a sleepy yawn as she settled more comfortably into his arms.

"Your feet are cold," she murmured, falling asleep already.

Her chest rose and fell rhythmically in a matter of moments, and he could do nothing, literally nothing. He felt the weight of her hand in his', felt the almost unperceivable dampness around their intertwined fingers. Felt her every breath as it teased and tormented him on its peaceful passage.

"What you do to me…" he whispered as he closed his eyes and tried to join her in sleep, albeit restless as it surely would be.

He was grateful for his ongoing decision to have a small swallow of a potion that helped him calm his… physical reaction to her. He took it in his evening tea, careful not to draw anyone's attention to the fact. He could control his mind, and his temper. He would never push any of his desires onto her. The potion was simply the means of making his body listen to his mind. He was a man, a man in his late thirties that had gone too long without the caring touch and attention of another human being, let alone a beautiful young witch. One of which had shamelessly slept in his bed and in his arms, most of the time quite literally, for two months now.

A witch who knew of his feelings for a whole week and still didn't run away screaming from him. Actually, after the painful aftermath of their mutual recognition, she simply accepted it, honoured it, welcomed it, and even managed to shyly admit to her own fuzzy thoughts about him.

She was honest. She told him she couldn't think about feelings for too long. It was too much.

He reassured her it was only natural, and that he was not going anywhere.

He even cracked a joke.

She giggled.

He didn't tell her out loud that he was in love with her. He didn't have to.

And she was grateful that he left it as it was.

Another smile escaped him as he felt the veil of sleep fall over him. Never before did she wrap her fingers in his'. He pressed their hands a little bit closer, and she sighed softly, relaxing even more in her sleep. In moments like these he knew he would never feel whole again if she was not thus asleep and close to him every night. She wanted to be there, she chose him every night, over and over again, and he always left her a choice, never assuming, never pushing. And she always chose him.

* * *

><p>Morning came sooner than she wished, and she found her hair matted to her face, her body curled in a weird position as the sun shone in her face with a persistence rivalling Teddy's. And Teddy was one very persistent child, not unlike herself at his age.<p>

She tried to stretch, but grunted as the body under her moved and moaned, as if struggling to breathe.

No, wait, it was struggling to breathe.

She opened her eyes and realized in horror that she was lying across Severus, with more than half of her weight pressing onto his chest.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she said, jumping up and waking him. He instinctively reached for her. It was not a coincidence that she was splayed over him in such a weird position. The night had been far from tranquil, but she was blissfully unaware of it. She always moved a lot in her sleep, and Severus watched over her as much as he could until sleep dragged him back in.

"Don't worry…." He murmured pulling her back into his arms, his eyes still closed.

"I almost suffocated you!" she exclaimed, much in her "old Hermione voice".

If he were more awake, he would have chuckled at her tone of voice. Now, he murmured something unidentifiable as he felt her palm rest on his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

He groaned. She was definitely awake, and once awoken, Hermione was, as the saying went 'ready to go'.

"I said what a glorious death it would have been."

She chuckled. "You didn't say that."

"I meant it."

"Don't joke about it," she said more solemnly.

"About what?" He asked, even though he knew.

"Severus!" she protested, tightening her hold on him. He was in Heaven already, dead or alive.

"Yes?" he asked softly.

"Don't ever say that," she now whispered, and he would have not heard her if she were not speaking into his ear.

"Never," he agreed, and opened his eyes finally to meet hers.

She watched him for a long time. His face, his brow, they way two deep wrinkles framed his mouth, and the warmth that shone for her in his deep dark irises, still so sweetly clouded with remnants of sleep.

She lifted her palm and followed the pattern of her gaze with her fingers, finally resting on his lips.

The lips that whispered to her in the night.

The lips that grazed her forehead as she climbed out of her nightmares.

The lips that soothed and lulled her into safety.

She could feel his heart racing in his chest, and was pretty sure he could detect a similar reaction in her.

He felt the pressure of her fingers on his lips and knew he was standing on a ledge. One small gesture and he would fall, he would fail her and let his weakness overtake him.

She rubbed her fingers slowly over his lips and he was lost.

He closed his eyes, shuddering as all he was feeling for her overwhelmed him.

She stopped her exploration when he reacted to her. She felt his body tremble and wouldn't believe she was the cause of it in any other situation. Yet now she could not ignore the truth. Would not ignore it.

He wanted her. He desired her.

And the question she kept asking herself over and over since she realized he loved her popped back into her mind. Could she ever be free enough to respond to him? Did she want to?

Her body gave a clear answer to the last question. She too was trembling, and yes, it was fear, partly, but in other part, it was something much, much deeper. Something she thought she would never feel with a man, any man, let alone this wonderful, caring, complicated man that was simply _her Severus._

He felt her shaking, but at the same time, her hold on him tightened, the pressure of her fingers remained constant, although now mercifully halting their progress over his lips, lingering in the middle.

And then the pressure eased, and the touch of her hand was no more. He wanted to look at her, but then he felt an airy warmth replace the velvety touch of her fingers, warmth soon followed by a different pressure, a different touch.

She laid her lips over his as timidly as any blushing maiden would. She did it against all her thoughts, all her memories, all her instincts.

Her instincts were shot to hell a long time ago.

She did it for that small spark that ignited something deep inside of her when she saw the love in his eyes for the first time. She did it out of curiosity. She did it out of something more than curiosity as well, something as deep and real as that spark, but it was too soon for her to admit it to herself.

His lips were warm, and surprisingly soft, and even though she felt their softness mere moments ago under the gentle exploration of her fingertips, it was incomparable. This… this was so much more. So, so much more.

He was afraid to breathe. He, Severus Snape, double agent, spy, anti-hero and secret saviour of the wizzarding world was afraid to move a muscle when he realized it was her lips that rested on his now.

And then she moved, and slid her lips slowly down the curve of his', peppering small kisses slowly down the left side of his upper lip before she returned to the middle, exploring, sensing, feeling, and yes, touching.

All her thoughts disappeared. All her fears. Her instincts received a firm "shut up" from that place inside of her that really wanted for this to continue.

She relaxed into him, lay back on him, her chest pressing into his as her palms slid up, one resting barely on his neck and the other disappearing more confidently into his hair.

Once, long ago, she kissed a boy. She knew how. She remembered even that she liked it. Really liked it. She was a mere girl then, and the boys kissing her no more experienced that she was. It was innocent fun, the steamiest kiss the one she and Ron shared during the final battle. But he was a boy.

This… this was Severus. And she really wanted to kiss him now, almost needed to kiss him, as the voice of fear in her chest that screamed at her not to stayed firmly silenced.

He felt her body shift and relax into him. Felt her hand sneak up towards his neck, resting on his collarbone as the other one went further. Felt her lips still on his, still lingering, exploring. Waiting for him to respond.

His brain was suddenly awake, along with every nerve ending in his body.

She was kissing him. She, Hermione Granger, was kissing him, Severus bloody Snape, in the early hours of the morning and not showing signs of stopping.

He moved his arm to her waist and locked the other one in her hair, mirroring her position.

And when she pressed her lips into his more firmly, he responded, and then he was lost again, more than before, and this time irrevocably. Lost in their touch. Lost in their togetherness, in their mutual torrent of fear and holding onto her as firmly as she held onto him to fight against the fears and express their emotions.

He slid his lips to the corner of hers, wetting her lower lip with his own before he continued to treasure the silken gates pulling him in.

They balanced between a firm lip lock and tender explorations for what seemed an eternity, the tips of their fingers moving in tandem with their lips, mimicking the feather-light pressure of their counterparts. His' found the warm skin under the rim of her t-shirt; hers' skimmed the over-sensible spot in the hollow between his collarbone and chin. He made her tense and curl more into him as his hand travelled over her side, never venturing too far up or down, never presuming more than it was allowed to touch. He tingled and his breaths often broke on their way out under her exquisitely slow, almost torturously languid explorations.

He didn't dare to try and deepen the kiss. Neither did she. A strong force tried to pull her back, make her crawl into her tight little secure fort, away from the fear, away from the temptation, but his hands held her, and his breath teased her, his lips danced over hers and she could not tear away from it.

What started as a timid experiment, a dare of a sort to herself, grew into an almost unidentifiable, yet the most normal situation in the world.

She was making out with Severus. In their bed, _their _bed, yes, first thing in the morning. They were not even tongue-kissing. He was barely touching her, and she dared not slide her palm further under the collar of his shirt.

She had been touched in any way imaginable and unimaginable, by the vile and vilest of villains who took their pleasure on her for a whole year and then some, and at that moment, when Severus had her in his arms, his mouth loving hers, soothing her, worshiping her so reverently, nothing of it mattered.

Because she was kissing Severus, really kissing him, and he was kissing her back.

Even in the simplicity of the situation, or perhaps just because of its simplicity, she could not help but recognize a small miracle. A miracle that was finally sent to her.


	12. Shell Cottage

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter books and movies is, sadly, not mine. It belongs to the amazing Jo Rowling, and I am simply borrowing her toys to play with them for a bit.

**Author****'****s****note:** The response I got from you to my last chapter blew me away completely. I am so grateful to have such amazing readers. Your reviews warm my writer's heart. Thank you! I apologize it took me so long to update. Really busy time in my life, career-wise. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

To answer all your comments, don't worry, I fully plan to finish this story, I have it outlined and the last chapter already almost finished. Be patient with me, it will probably be a longer time in between updates, but I will try to post every couple of weeks, depending on my travel schedule.

p.s. Fleur speaks with an accent. I chose not to write it, but you can imagine it. She will also use some French words, nothing too difficult to understand.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

**Shell Cottage**

Ever since Arthur Weasley apparated with her to Grimmauld Place in her first recovery days she had not experienced the once so familiar sensation.

She stood in the corridor nervously pulling the sleeves of her grey sweater further over her hands, trying not to talk herself out of going.

She really wanted to see Fleur. See her, and tell her some things one could only confide to a girlfriend.

Things like fancying your former potions professor.

She heard the Lupins coming down the stairs, obviously in the middle of a heated discussion about what toys Teddy just _had_ to bring with him.

She smiled.

The emerged a moment later, Tonks carrying Teddy's hippogriff knapsack over her shoulder, Remus holding a small suitcase that obviously carried all of their other, undoubtedly shrunken belongings.

"Hello Hermione!" Tonks greeted casually. "All set?"

She nodded, forcing a small smile onto her face.

Remus walked up to her and spoke in a more quiet voice. "Nervous?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "A little. About…. you know," she looked away "… apparating."

"You could take the train to Southampton," Tonks added, leaving Teddy to fuss with his trainers. "I'm sure Severus wouldn't mind…"

"No," Hermione interrupted her. "I'll be ok. It can't be as bad as the last time."

The last time she was so sick after it, so weak in her bones that she'd spent the entire afternoon lying on the small sofa in what would become her bedroom.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Remus added. "You are so much stronger now. Just relax and trust your partner," he said with a wry smile.

She blushed and looked away a second time. "I do," she whispered just as the man in question joined them.

"Theodore, what on Earth are you doing with your shoes?" Severus's rich voice boomed through the narrow hallway.

Instantly she felt safer. She could do this.

When their eyes met, she took a deep breath and a small smile appeared on her face. Yes, she could do this.

Severus put down the small bag holding his clothes and she wondered if he'd shrunk it or just travelled lightly.

"I dislike heavy baggage," he said in answer to her unasked question.

Meanwhile Tonks turned to the task of tying Teddy's trainers for him.

"Daddy, can I go with Uncle Severus and Rinny?" Teddy asked getting off the step he sat on, and moving past his mother who just shook her head at her hyperactive son.

"I'm afraid you cannot, Severus can't apparate the both of you," Remus explained patiently. In truth, Severus obviously could apparate them all, but Remus knew Hermione wanted her privacy, she was nervous enough.

"But Hermione is a witch, she can go by herself," Teddy said innocently, hitting the nail square on the head.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Up until now there was no need to explain the particulars to Teddy.

The adults shared a look, but finally it was Hermione who knelt down to the boy's height.

"Teddy, I can't apparate anymore," she said softly.

"Why not?" he asked, his eyes wide. "But you're a witch! You _are_a witch, right?" he seemed genuinely confused.

"She is," Severus voiced above them.

It was a question Hermione struggled with alone, and hearing him confirm it now made the questioning inside quiet down for now.

"Darling," she said touching the boy's face gently "I was hurt, and I can't do magic anymore." Her voice was soft, reconciled, attentive to Teddy's reaction.

He seemed to ponder the situation for a while, his eyes falling on his shoelaces in deep concentration. "Well, I guess I can go with my Dad now, and you can go with Uncle Severus, but just because I am too small now. When I grow up, _I_ will apparate with you," he proclaimed puffing his little chest.

He seemed genuinely satisfied with his solution, and she fought hard to suppress a tear threatening to fall down her cheek. Instead she gave him the biggest smile she could muster and hugged his briefly. "It's a deal," she whispered in his hair. "Now go to your parents, and we'll see each other shortly," she added and kissed him on the forehead.

The adults exchanged a look that clearly stated it will be more than a few moments that they see each other next, but the look was lost on Teddy.

Remus picked Teddy up in his arms and Tonks grabbed their luggage, shrinking it again to fit into her pocket.

"We'll be waiting," Tonks said before two pops accompanied their apparition.

Hermione's eyes lay fixed upon the spot they stood for a long time after, vaguely aware that she was shaking.

Severus laid his hands on her shoulders, and they both just stood there, just breathing, in blessed silence.

"We could take the train," he whispered softly into her hair.

"No," she replied, a renewed firmness in her voice. "Just…" she turned to meet his eyes and the corner of her lips turned up into a smile "…apparate us to the beach. I don't want to loose my breakfast over Fleur's living room carpet."

He chuckled. "Come here," he said, reaching out for her, and she willingly walked into his arms. "Close your eyes," he murmured into her hair as she settled her arms around his waist.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Pop.

* * *

><p>"Here," said Fleur as she wrapped a shawl over Hermione's shoulders. "The evenings are a bit chilly", she added and Hermione nodded gratefully, returning her gaze to the small headstone.<p>

The petite blonde knelt down to join her friend in silent reverie. "It seems a lifetime ago," she said and Hermione nodded again.

Fleur observed her in silence, giving her time ever since they arrived. Friendly words were exchanged, but nothing of substance. No real conversation. She knew it will take some time, and she was willing to wait.

She rubbed her palms together. "I'll be inside; dinner is almost ready to take out of the oven."

"I won't be long," Hermione answered, not looking at Fleur.

She was almost out of hearing range when Hermione called out for her.

"Oui ma cherie?"

"After dinner… let us take a walk by the water."

A small smile tittered on Fleur's delicate face. "Naturellement."

Hermione continued to observe Dobby's headstone. Images flooded her mind ever since they arrived.

Images of Harry and Ron running into the warm summer water just like little children, forgetting everything, the hunters at their feet, Voldemort, their fears and the future.

Images of herself kneeling in front of this very headstone for the first time.

Things good and bad, but things she was so careful to block resurfaced and she was too weak to stop them.

The scent in the air brought back memories of their year on the run, the blessed moments when they'd found solace in this house, on this beach, as well as the anguished times when they sought out information, guidance, answers.

Fighting the war. Their war, it seemed sometimes. Harry's war.

Her war. And everybody's.

She drew a flower in the sand with her finger and stood up.

The sea breeze gently caressed her face, it was a wonderfully mild evening, and she could not detect any of the evening chilliness Fleur mentioned. Still she wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders and slowly returned to the house.

* * *

><p>Bill didn't get a chance to observe a full table on his ordinary evenings at home and rejoiced the opportunity handed to him by the arrival of their guests.<p>

Victoire picked at her food idly, obviously having eaten as much as she wanted and waiting for the moment to be excused. Even at her tender age of three, she was a well mannered child.

Teddy Lupin, on the other hand, already expressed signs of his father's young ways, trying desperately to hide his vegetables into the napkin, a feat so far successfully hindered by his mother's stern look.

Victoire looked his way from time to time, but she didn't seem impressed by his mischief.

Bill smiled inwardly. The children were of same age and would attend Hogwarts together. He hoped theirs would be a friendly relationship.

There were more than a few pluses at occupying the head of the table, and in his current situation the biggest seemed the possibility to observe Hermione and Severus, who sat opposite him.

'How curious', he thought when at a certain point she seemed tired and he acted as if he sensed her discomfort, so finely attuned he seemed to be to her. Was the infamous legilimens using his skills on the young woman? Or was he simply reading the body language of the woman he was very familiar with?

He leaned back and put his napkin on the table beside his plate. This will be an interesting week, he deducted with a smile.

"Papa, may I be excused?" Victoire asked politely.

Bill nodded with a smile. "If you've eaten your dinner, then yes."

"I have, look!" she motioned to her almost empty plate. "Can I show Teddy my fairies?"

Teddy seemed to focus all of his concentration now on Victoire.

Remus chuckled. He couldn't blame his son, even at their tender age, the girl was part Veela.

Bill picked up on the energy as well and nodded in answer.

Victoire, in an uncharacteristically ungraceful manner, jumped off of her chair and ran over to the other side of the table, pulling Teddy with her and explaining about her fairies enthusiastically.

Fleur shook her head and laughed. "A Weasley Veela, God help us" she said, giving her husband a loving look. "I hope Ted has the energy to match her enthusiasm," she added.

Remus joined her in laughter. "Oh, that he has."

Hermione enjoyed the evening more than she thought. Bill and Fleur were, as always, as undemanding of her input to the conversation, leaving her at peace to relax and get accustomed to the big crowd.

It seemed to her that Bill, having grown up with so many people around him, craved the silence and calmness of his small family, and even a full family table didn't produce as much racket as the Weasley's traditionally cheerful evening meals.

She felt relaxed, and would be perfectly at ease if not for one thought troubling her above all others.

She didn't want to sleep alone this week.

And she still hadn't found the courage in her to speak to Fleur about it, to speak to her in general.

She took a bite out of her delicious crab cake and put her napkin down. She couldn't eat more.

Thankfully, dinner was drawing to its close, and Remus and Bill soon found an excuse to move into the living room, Severus soon following them and choosing a book from the small library occupying one wall.

Tonks and Fleur took care of the table in a couple of practiced swishes of their wands.

She could hear the children playing upstairs, and she just sat at her dining room chair, observing the movement around her, feeling much the alien she was.

A chair beside her creaked and she looked up from the wine glass she was currently studying.

"You ok kid?" Tonks asked in her usual motherly tone, the tone reserved for their moments of privacy.

"As much as can be expected," Hermione answered turning her eyes back to the glass.

"You worried about the night?" Tonks asked minding her voice. They were left along for the moment as Fleur went upstairs to check on the children.

"What?" Hermione pierced her with a worried gaze.

Tonks remained silent, but gave her a pointed look.

Hermione sighed. "You know," she said.

"Yes, I know, and I don't see a problem," she said softly.

"How did you find out? Did Severus tell you?"

Tonks chuckled. "That man wouldn't reveal a secret of yours to me or anyone even under torture." Her eyes moved briefly to the living room to make sure they were still granted their privacy. "No, but I know Severus more than he would care to admit. Did you know that he slept in the library until you moved to his room?"

"Good choice of words there," Hermione said. "Yes, he told me not too long ago. But no, in the beginning I did not know it. So you realized my room was empty at night?"

Another chuckle. "No. I would never go into your room without permission. I saw the couch in the library in the mornings, and it was not slept on. That meant only one thing."

"Still, it could have meant that he just went back to his room, alone."

Tonks shook her head. "Do you know the man at all?"

Hermione smiled. "Ok, I see what you mean." She sunk her head into her hands. "Tonks, this is all so… confusing."

"What is?"

"How…" she muffled the rest of her question, but Tonks could hear the pain in her voice. 'How could he care for me?'

"Hermione, listen to me."

She looked up, her eyes weary, but her face so young, so able to heal.

"The man loved Lily for twenty years. He did not stop loving her in an afternoon, and moved his affections to you. It was a process. We were left alone to search for you, and he spent hours upon hours in the pensieve, I swear sometimes I thought he'd go mad. Every time he came out of the library with some new piece of news, he came out also with a deeper understanding of you as a woman. He restored the magical maps out of tattered sheets of parchment they were, the maps that led us to you ultimately. It was months in the making, and trust me that he never hoped it would be returned."

"But still, after everything, how can he… care?" Hermione whispered the last word almost in shame, disgust at herself for fathoming the emotion.

Dora gently moved a lock of hair from Hermione's face. "He loves you."

Hermione let out a long breath. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to…."

Tonks smiled. "And here comes the miracle. He doesn't expect anything, as you very well know. Darling, you have been given what is possibly the most patient man in the universe to care for you, and thank Heavens, you seem to be seeing him as well for who he really is." Her voice softened more, if that was even possible. "Out of all the men in the world, except my Remus, Severus is one of the few others I would trust the life of my son with, and my loved ones. There is so much in him, so much love that has been hidden for all of his life. There is no shame in accepting that love, and responding to it."

"I kissed him this morning," Hermione whispered, her voice as frail as her confidence.

Tonks smiled. "Well thank Merlin for that."

"You don't think I am using him?"

"You silly girl. Have you seen yourself? The way you look at him? It would be using if you didn't love him back. This way, it's just… marvelous."

Hermione flinched at the word 'love'. She didn't allow herself to confess the emotion out loud to herself, let alone to Severus. The word itself hadn't left his lips either, but it was clear ever for so long that he did, it fact, love her. Why, she could not understand, even after Tonks's reassurances.

She was broken. To dare to love him and expect of a man like him to remain with a woman like her was ridiculous. No, he was a man who lived all of his life on missions, his longest being the protection of Harry, Lily's son. Of course he felt something for her. He was so willing to help her in any way he could. She was his new mission.

She could see him believing himself to love her, to want to help her heal, but living with her day after day, having a future with her, with the knowledge of what she's been exposed to didn't seem like a reality to her. She was certain that he would bow out gracefully in the future, having finished his mission, and she could not feel anything less than profound gratitude for all that he's done to restore her back into the land of the living.

Deep inside she knew she was falling for him. He was a man so well suited for her. He was patient, not particularly sociable, intensely private and so wonderfully gentle with the ones he loved that it tore her up inside to accept that he would walk away from her one day.

The sound of Fleur's footsteps coming down the stairs shook her out of her thoughts.

"Thank you Dora, for everything," she said truthfully. "I don't know… what is to come, but I do care about him a lot."

Dora smiled. "That's all it matters kid. The rest will work itself out," she said with conviction. "Now, I do believe those two wolves have been left alone with poor Severus for far too long, I must go rescue him."

"Rescue who?" Fleur's charming voice floated into the kitchen.

"The dark man brooding in the corner of your living room while our husbands exchange secret stories of their furry adventures."

"Oh…" Fleur said, chuckling. "I guess then that you do. Hermione and I are going out for a while."

"Don't worry, I'll look after the pack," Dora said, deliberate in her choice of words. After all, there was no secret society of werewolf' wives. Therefore Fleur was a very dear and much appreciated friend.

"It's so wonderful to have you here," Fleur said warmly to the both of them.

A silent understanding was shared between the three women, an understanding that went a long way to convince Hermione that she'd indeed made the right decision in coming to spend the week there.

"Shall we?" Fleur said to Hermione, motioning towards the beach.

"Yes."


	13. The cunning Mrs Weasley

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter books and movies is, sadly, not mine. It belongs to the amazing Jo Rowling, and I am simply borrowing her toys to play with them for a bit.

**Author****'****s****note:** I am so sorry for not being able to update this story until now. Life has been crazy, but that is not an excuse. I can assure you that I intend to do a ridiculous amount of prewriting over the holidays, so that you can expect a more frequent update rate.

Thank you for reading!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

**The cunning Mrs. Weasley**

The evening sun caressed her skin, with its colours of aged gold, wine and passion, and she sighed softly, letting the subtle warmth seep into her bones.

Fleur observed the face of her friend during this intimate gesture and waited patiently. They have been strolling down the waterfront for a while now, but other than admiring the scenery with a few subtle words, the time had been spent in friendly silence.

Fleur was not as frivolous-minded as to believe that Hermione was indeed taking her time solely out of languid pleasure.

Softly, Hermione spoke. "You cannot imagine how beautiful it is to me," she whispered with her gaze still transfixed with the evening sun. "You cannot imagine…" her voice trailed off into the murmurs of the sea winds with a lace of pain ever present.

"Viens ma belle, let us rest here for a moment," Fleur said pointing to the sand dune that offered a particularly nice view of the cove.

Hermione wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, almost completely hiding her arms in its rich folds.

"What a beautiful piece," Fleur said appreciatively as she got the chance to more carefully observe the garment.

Hermione smiled. "A present from Severus," she said gently. "Elven cashmere," she said running her palm gently over it. "He said it suited me best."

Fleur smiled. The man was a constant surprise. "It does."

Hermione's eyes drifted back to the water. "I know what it means…. I have not…" she pauses, the pain rising like dangerous acid up her throat, and she has paused to will it back into that safe place within… "I know what it means…." Almost as in her old days, she started reciting passages from a textbook

_"…Elven cashmere is a thin but incredibly strong and warm thread, used to make clothing that responds to the person wearing it by adjusting to his or hers body temperature, mood, skin sensitivity and hydration. In its weight it gives the appearance of silk, is extremely rare and magically potent…" _

"Do you feel its magic?" Fleur asked, directly, but sensibly.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I feel… comfort. I could say it makes me feel "wrapped", safer by a small margin, but magic…. No."

"We won't talk about anything you don't wish to…" Fleur started, but Hermione cut in.

"No, it's all right."

Her eyes met Fleur's directly.

"I need your help," she said, eyes downcast. "I need to ask you something…." She turned away from her, hugging her shawl tighter.

Fleur observed her reaction and waited patiently. She was indeed a hurt lamb.

"I am sorry," Hermione said after a few moments.

"Don't be," was all she got as a response, met with warm eyes and a comforting smile.

Hermione lost her eyes in the sunset again, gathering strength and courage. Finally, she spoke.

"Severus and I have been sleeping in the same bed ever since I came to live with the Lupin's."

Her eyes met Fleur's, but even if she was surprised, which she was, she hid it well.

"He… he helps me. I can sleep."

Fleur knew how to read a woman, and being French and part Veela made her quite proficient at that task.

"You are worried about this week," she stated, and Hermione didn't need to respond. "I prepared you rooms at the top floor; there are only three rooms… Teddy will be sharing a room with Victoire."

"The same floor?" Hermione asked. "Remus doesn't know," she added in explanation. "I thought nobody knew, but Dora does."

"Are you ashamed of it?"

Hermione broke her gaze from Fleur's and nodded.

So there they were.

"You know, I always admired your professor Snape," she said, careful not to put much emphasis on the word _your_. "Ever since I met him, he seemed like a very honourable person."

Hermione chuckled. "He is. Only we were too wrapped up in the prejudice of him being the epitome of evil when we were children to really see him."

"But you do see him now."

Hermione idly drew stars in the sand with her index finger, and sighed "I do."

"He sees you, you know. Like you see him."

It was a statement, one that made Hermione draw at her shawl again.

Fleur sighed. This would be indeed a long journey.

After a long time, Hermione voiced her thoughts. "He is honourable. He is noble and brave and so strong… he doesn't show disgust at me, although he must think of _it_, remember… how could he not?" She looked at Fleur with resigned defeat. "Still he holds me while I shake in my sleep, and wipes my tears and cares for me in a way that makes me so ashamed and so grateful at the same time…"

"Why are you ashamed?" Fleur asked.

The look on Hermione's face was incredulous. "You are not a simpleton. You know that the world is grey, and my world is not just grey, it's muddy. I am…." she whipped her palm over her face and continued in her resigned tone of voice "… damaged. My magic is gone, my body a sick mass of muscle and bone, too weak to fight to health with medicine… I am ashamed to need his touch. I am ashamed that I crave it, that I am weak without it. He gives it willingly, because he cares for me, but he doesn't know…. He doesn't know that I am too damaged to be the woman he deserves…."

She was getting lost in her limbo, and Fleur took her hand in hers, pulling her concentration back to the present.

Hermione looked at their hands and smiled with irony. "Did you know that I could not touch anyone? It was repulsive… the feel of skin on my skin, it was like acid… Except his skin. His skin was like silk. It was a year of acid… I was too weak to turn away from the silk."

"Why should you? He is offering it."

"He is misguided. He responds to my pain, he is my saviour, but he should want more than this."

Fleur smiled. "He doesn't seem to want more than this."

"He is cruel. He makes me believe that I could be enough for him. There is this little place inside me that harbours a seed of hope and it is cruel. It makes me do things that would only hurt us both, repeatedly."

"What does it make you do?"

"It makes me want to touch him, like a woman. It makes me kiss him, and it makes me feel brave enough to slide my hands over his skin…." It was so hard to say the words, even though she put all her courage into it. This was Fleur, she was safe to speak about it with her. And Fleur, having enough sharp wit and tact to walk this tightrope, knew how to gently navigate the conversation away from the pitfall.

"Did you like kissing him?"

Hermione smiled. "It was a miracle. A simple touch, but a miracle." She turned her gaze sharply to Fleur's. "You see what he does?"

Fleur smiled. "Oh yes I see."

"Don't say it like that. It's not like that," she became agitated.

"Tell me about your nights."

Hermione calmed instantly, and Fleur was once again shocked inside as to how responsive Hermione was to Severus, even though it was clear that a kiss was the farthest they have gone with regard to a sensual relationship. But there was an intimacy in her voice when she talked of him, an intimacy that spoke about them much more than the level of sensuality.

"I have to drink Dreamless Sleep, but it is…difficult, even with it."

"He makes it less difficult?" Fleur offered, and was regaled with a smile.

"He makes it go away completely sometimes, and other times he is just there… it helps. The nightmares, he is with me in them, I can feel his arms holding me behind the veil of sleep and it makes them go away faster. And other times…" her voice trailed off and a long silence enveloped them.

"There are nights that are just too cruel. He can't help then. I don't remember what I do, you know?"

Fleur just nodded in silence.

"There are mornings when I find myself in a different nightgown, and my hair is so soft and smells of lavender. The bed sheets are changed and he is bone tired, the circles under his eyes deep blue and heavy, and he is sleeping in a chair or on the floor beside the bed. It's those mornings when I feel most ashamed at what I do to him….and still I am too weak to turn away from it and free him."

Fleur's heart broke and filled at the same time at the level of devotion this man was showing to her friend. It was not infatuation; it was not passion, but pure love.

She knew what the pristine clean morning meant. Bill had nightmares after his attack, until he started changing with the full moon. She has accepted the change as a better option when compared to the wet sheets and piercing screams that filled their bed chamber for months. She would never forget how he sobbed and shook in her arms, and was completely unaware of his actions in the morning. It was a time that she grew into a wife, not just a woman. She was familiar with the torment, and her respect for Severus Snape grew by a mile.

"And does he want to be free?"

She suspected not, no matter the torment.

"We never talk about it. At all... About any of it."

Oh, the man was smarter than she thought. Well done Severus Snape.

"It doesn't help to dwell on talking after such nights."

Hermione turned to Fleur, surprised. "How would you…" and then her hand flew to her mouth.

"No, no, it was not me," Fleur reassured her. "Bill is changing now with the moon… I suppose it is a blessing."

Hermione felt tears fall down her cheeks at the torment her friend had gone through unbeknownst to her.

"How long?" she asked, and Fleur sighed heavily.

"A year passed after Greyback bit him until he started transforming."

"You never told me…. I was here, we were all here and imposing on you and you kept silent…"

Fleur gave her a soft smile. "He is my husband, and I am his caretaker as much as he is mine. The war was hard on all of us. There was no point of burdening you with our troubles, you could not help."

"And yet you let me burden you now with mine," Hermione whispered, and the omnipresent shame crept up again.

"But I can help you now," Fleur said. "My Bill is my world, together with our girl. And I do love her, but that doesn't mean I love her more than him. I know how your Severus feels, and I can tell you not to feel ashamed. There is no duty, no honour and noblesse to keep a man by a woman in such torment as yours."

Her voice shook as she spoke, but her eyes were dry. There was much to be said about Fleur Delacour, and even more to be said and thought about Fleur Weasley. A petite blonde just gave the appearance of fragility, and whoever spent a moment in her company grew quickly convinced in that truth.

"There is only one question here," Fleur said after a short silence. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know." Hermione found herself actually pondering the thought with a clear head now. "Sometimes I think I do, I mean…" a small smile flittered over her face "…he is so strange, and secluded. He doesn't talk much, and loves to be left at peace. I have never thought that I would like a man so private, but I find it curiously appealing… I like to share in his silence. I never knew how relaxing it was."

Fleur smiled. "So you are comfortable with him."

"I am."

"But do you love him? Or is it too soon to tell?"

"Perhaps…"

It was in fact a loaded question, and to give a definite answer would be trivializing what they were both feeling. Sure, she was guilty of just that from time to time, naming what she felt gratitude and nothing but, or admiration, and very rarely, in the privacy of her mind on a very good day, she would dare to call it tender love.

"I could imagine my life with such a man, if I could imagine my life with a man at all," was what she finally said. "But there's no use," she quickly added, her eyes yet again taking on a pensive air. "What am I? A poor excuse for a woman, unable to be a wife, a mother, a lover…. I could not be his completely. So you see, there is no use to dwell on this further."

But Fleur disagreed. She disagreed firmly, and you could not turn her away so easily when she sniffed a trail.

So she did the most cunning thing she could… She agreed with Hermione.

"Yes, there is definitely no use to think about such a situation." She left a small pause to fill the air before she, very noncommittally, asked.

"If you had met him, noticed him as you do now, as a man, in a world where all the violation hadn't happened to you, and you were still your old self, do you think you would have fallen in love with him? Been his lover?"

"In a heartbeat," Hermione said, not really thinking. It was safe, hypothetical. "He is the perfect man for the woman I was."

Oh the sweet pleasures of cunning a person into seeing their truth. Fleur knew that Hermione would respond without her boundaries if presented with a hypothetical situation, and she was not disappointed.

She carefully continued. "In this hypothetical world, could you see yourself married to him? Having his children? Would he even want children?"

Hermione chuckled lovingly at that. "You should see him with Teddy. He would never admit it to the general public, but he adores the boy. He would be a great father. And a great husband. People don't know the real Severus Snape. They all have this image of him, a strict teacher, a Death Eater, A war hero, the anti-hero, the closet romantic who loved Harry's Mum for all of his life… They see him like a cardboard figure, with a tag attached to it. They don't see what I see. They don't know that he is or was all that, and much more."

"I see…" was all Fleur said, and then dropped the subject. She knew Hermione well enough that, even with the terrible events that changed her life irrevocably, she would ponder this conversation in her mind later on. She was satisfied as of now to have planted the seed in her mind.

It was obvious that Hermione was very much emotionally involved with Severus, and Fleur saw that acknowledging that would be a huge step on her road to health. She could see how they suited each other, and after realizing the extent of his, and suspecting the range of her emotions, she could hope that the two would find their way to each other in every sense of the word.

In the meantime, a little push wouldn't hurt.

"Here, I almost forgot," Fleur said, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan to retrieve five small sea shells. "These are portkeys, designed specially to work for the return trip. They will take you to the caves and back, without any risk. The magic is what is usually used in Special Muggle Transportation."

Hermione's eyes glazed over. The caves…. Her caves. It was her secret place, her special haven when they would spend time at the Cottage during the war and being with the boys was just too much.

And those were Muggle portkeys… She could go to her caves again.

"Thank you... I don't know what to say."

Fleur smiled. "Thank Bill. He though it would be a nice welcoming present. A welcome home present, to be precise." She gently, almost motherly, tucked a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear and caressed her cheek for a moment. "Just hold them in your fist and count backwards for nine heartbeats."

Hermione hugged her friend tightly and closed her eyes. Yes, she was home here. And she felt most welcome.


	14. Interlude

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter books and movies is, sadly, not mine. It belongs to the amazing Jo Rowling, and I am simply borrowing her toys to play with them for a bit.

**Author's note:** Thank you for reading! I wish you all a very happy new year, all 366 days of it, lots of joy and laughter, and most of all great stories!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

**Interlude**

It was a long evening for Hermione.

She was keenly aware in what a shining light she had painted Severus to Fleur, and was coming to realize the subtle navigation of her friend.

Was she really ready to admit to herself that she did have feelings, true, strong feelings for him?

Why did she kiss him?

He had barely kissed her back, but he had. Was he repulsed by her, or just over-cautious?

She was not a good judge of romantic signals, a skill further hindered by her trauma.

But she was still Hermione Granger, and she decided, then and there at the dinner table, to pick up her courage from the dusty corner of her mind and talk to him.

Really talk to him.

They have been sharing a bed and so much more for months now.

She needed to know why. His why.

And she would find out.

Her hand brushed over the portkeys in her pocket.

The caves.

She would go tomorrow, if she survived this night in relative peace. She never knew. They never knew.

She looked up from her plate and her thoughts to find Severus watching her and trying to hide his worry.

Did he look? Did he read her mind? No, it was not possible. She remembered his words…

"_Even if I couldn't restrain myself from looking, I could not see a thing. Believe me, I tried, the first night you were brought to the hospital. You have built such a strong barrier that not even Voldemort could penetrate it."_

Thank God for small favours, she thought. She was now a bullet-proof Occlumens, if one could call her that considering that she didn't develop the skill for shielding her thoughts. She just built a wall. A high, thick wall, and used up her magic to connect the bricks.

Her demeanour had obviously sunk further down to melancholy, because Severus was not even trying to hide anymore that it was troubling him.

Her Severus.

She shook her head gently to brush the dark thoughts away, and smiled softly, noticing how his shoulders instantly relaxed.

So protective was he of her.

So caring.

Yes, she had to talk to him. She had to know why. Understand why. Because… if he loved her, really loved her, then she would be free to feel again. If so, it would open a dam on a whole new pool of rotten memories that have been festering inside of her, waiting to be released when it was safe enough.

She feared that moment. But if he loved her, if he could love her like a woman, and help her find that woman inside of her, that it would be bearable.

The caves. Yes, she would ask him to go with her.

Tomorrow.

It was dark, the moon hiding behind the clouds, and she could barely find her way around her room.

There was no electricity, and a small candle provided just enough light for her to take her pyjama out of the bag.

Everyone had already retired for the evening, the children being the first to go in spite of their adamant reassurances when they moved after dinner to the small but cosy living room that they would play until tomorrow.

The conversation was smooth and unobtrusive, open and free, as it was the case amongst friends.

Severus held the eldest Weasley in a much higher regard than his younger siblings, and they had soon found a topic of interest that was equally engaging to the entire little ensemble.

Curiously, it was not a magical topic, but one Hermione could relate to, and, to be honest, absolutely adored.

Muggle literature.

She was surprised how much Remus and Tonks knew about Thackeray and T.S. Elliot, and even more surprised that Bill navigated the topic with knowledge, knowing how little Ron knew about anything Muggle.

They had spent a comfortable few hours talking about their favourites, and how they'd stumbled upon them, in the magical world.

Yes, it was a trip down memory lane in a way, even for her, but she felt safe to think about it, to talk about it, when it evolved around such a benign topic as books.

Later she would realize just how good of a hostess Fleur was and with how much preparation she entered into the invitation of the Grimmauld inhabitants to her home.

No one could ever say that the French were not impossibly wonderful hosts.

* * *

><p>She was tying her bathrobe getting ready to wander out and into the room across the hall when a soft knock sounded through the semi-darkness.<p>

"Yes?" she asked, feeling instantly uncomfortable.

He walked inside, closing the door behind him. "Just making sure that you're dressed," Severus said as he walked closer to her.

He noticed her bathrobe and raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

Her eyes betrayed her newly reached decision to be courageous and found an interesting spot on his shirt. "Yes," she spoke softly.

"And where would that be?" he rumbled from above her.

She inhaled his scent and raised her hands to the buttons.

He watched her, knowing that she would be the death of him one day, so completely unaware of the effect she had on him.

"To your room," she finally squeezed out of herself, and he chuckled.

The sound confused her enough to meet his eyes, and in the candle light she could have sworn to have seen them shine with mirth for a second or two.

"This is my room," he answered the question raised by her brow. She was indeed picking up on some of his quirks, he noticed. He wondered whether he had been incorporating some of hers into his behaviour as well… one could never know, and the Lupins would never mention it even if they noticed.

"But… I thought… how?"

"The epitome of fluency," he couldn't help himself but tease her, and she had the good grace to actually blush.

"If I am not mistaken, our hostess changed the arrangements after you returned from your walk on the beach."

He paused when she visibly relaxed and sunk into his arms, a motion he welcomed with his whole heart.

"The Lupins are down the hall, and the room across is empty. It was to be your room, but I took the liberty of bringing your bag here after Mrs. Weasley mentioned you had informed her of the intricacies pertaining to our nocturnal habits."

She chuckled. "Honestly, could you not complicate that sentence more?"

"Would you prefer if I said we were sleeping together?" he said, wondering if he pushed her too much. To his delight, she only gulped down a deep breath before meeting his eyes.

"Yes. We are, after all."

He smiled. So they would be acknowledging the big white elephant in the room.

"We are what?" he pushed, unable and unwilling to hide his smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Sleeping together."

"That we are," he said gently, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. "That we are my dear."

He didn't know if it was the tenderness of his touch of his words, but she found herself reaching for his hand and covering it, then reciprocating the gesture.

He shuddered at the soft touch of her fingers on his cheek. He felt the friction as his stubble scratched the tender skin of her fingertips and a heat spread through his body.

She took her time; feeling suddenly empowered and entitled to touch the man she was sleeping with. Not that she didn't touch him often enough, but there was a new intimacy in this moment.

He called her "my dear". He had never in his life uttered those words to another human being, let alone a woman in his arms. That combined with her closeness and her hands on his face had a very strange effect on Severus Snape. He was loosing control of his limbs, something that happened so rarely that its occurrence only added to his discomposure.

His arm sneaked around her waist and he pulled her closer, his other hand still gently resting on her neck.

He really wanted to kiss her. And do other things to her and with her, and she was not helping in his attempt to deflect those thoughts.

Finally the minx decided she teased him enough, but only to wind her hands around his neck and sigh into his chest, while her restless curls came to rest under his chin.

He was in hell, and yet he could have died from pleasure at that very moment, holding her, knowing they had crossed another barrier.

Finally she disentangled herself from him, only to take his hand in hers and lead him to the bed.

"Come," she said, her voice fresh and playful. "It's time that I took you to my bed for a change."

He smirked. "Technically, this is still my room."

She shook her head, a full smile spreading wide over her features. "I don't see your clothes anywhere."

"Could we agree on this being 'our room' and go to sleep?"

She shook her head again. "Not a chance. My room, my bed, my…" she stopped short of saying too much, but it was perhaps too late, for his name had already begun to take shape on her lips, and he was too focused on her mouth not to notice.

"Say it," he rasped coming to sit next to her on her side of the bed.

She could hear the subdued passion in his tone, and it sent chills down her spine, but there was also something else in his hushed command… a plea.

She could not deny him anything, and it was fortunate that he was not yet aware of the fact.

"My Severus," she whispered, and his eyes closed as if he'd just tasted the finest food in the universe and was savouring the taste.

In the later years, especially during a quarrel, he would remember this moment and be quick to remind her that she was the one to lay claim on him first, and had thus chosen her destiny. It would serve him to come out of the argument as a double winner. Firstly, he would be right, at least partially, for she was the first to voice the mutual and in the silence of their thoughts often used endearment, and secondly, the mentioning of this moment inevitably led to a more tender exchange.

That night they lay in a comfortable embrace, both pondering the tenderness emerging suddenly uninhibited and wondering where it led.

When Hermione descended the stairs into the cosy kitchen the next morning, Remus was reading one part of the Daily Prophet and Severus the other, each at their own end of the table, each nursing their own cup of coffee.

"Good morning Hermione," Remus was first to greet her, and the only one.

She smiled and returned the greeting, before she went to retrieve her own cup while Severus's concerned gaze followed her as she reached for it.

She managed the task alone, her tremors subsiding in the recent weeks, but still, she smiled triumphantly as she poured the inviting dark brown liquid and discolouring it a moment later with a generous splash of milk.

She came to sit down next to Severus and shook her head when he offered her a section of the paper.

She would still not read anything from the magical world.

He still offered from time to time.

She produced a paperback edition of Jane Eyre from the pocket of her bathrobe and opened to the bookmarked page while lifting one foot at the edge of the stool and leaning slightly into Severus for balance.

He didn't flinch, didn't move or show in any way that this was unusual.

Remus observed the silent agreement occur before his eyes as if he was not there and chuckled, finally drawing attention to himself.

"Yes?" Severus inquired in his detached morning tone of voice. He was definitely a man of little words before lunch was served, usually spending his mornings in the library in blessed silence.

"Oh nothing…. This is simply charming," he said, waving a hand over the scene they depicted.

Hermione lifted her nose from her book and turned her eyes to Severus.

He raised his eyebrow to dismiss the worry etched into hers; silently communicating that he would deal with the situation, benign as it were.

"What is?" Severus asked faking annoyance.

"You two." Remus answered not offering his the easy way out.

Severus sighed inwardly. On the outside he gave his friend the patented annoyed look, complete with a frown and piercing stare.

"Oh don't give me that, a little too late to play big bad Snape to me," Remus said, chuckling. "I have been wondering when you two would come out of the closet, although I guess that was not our dear Miss Granger's intention when she wore your bathrobe this morning instead of hers."

'Shit' she thought when she looked at herself a little better and realized that indeed, she had in her sleepy state donned his bathrobe instead of her own, and pushed the book into the pocket without giving it a second glance before she ventured downstairs.

Remus didn't know how he managed to contain his laughter, and in fact, he did a poor job containing it as he observed two equally surprised looks cross their faces.

Neither had noticed.

Severus turned his attention back to a grinning Remus, which was, in his opinion, a disconcerting sight even in the afternoons, and barely manageable at breakfast time.

"Remus, Hermione and I have been sharing a room."

"Oh, I am well aware of that, although my dearest wife still thinks I'm clueless."

"You knew?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Hermione, I _am _a werewolf. Some enhancements come with the change of species," he said tapping his nose with his index finger. "Severus never smelled of lavender before you came to us."

She blushed, casting her eyes downwards, and feeling the nervousness crawling over her skin.

Remus and Severus exchanged a serious glance, all notion of teasing gone momentarily at the sight of her crawling back into her shell.

"My dear," Severus whispered and she immediately looked up at him, surprised at his open declaration of affection. "…it is all right. I am actually quite fond of lavender."

Remus let out a breath as he watched Severus lure Hermione back into her relaxed state, taking her hand in his and caressing it gently for a few moments before offering her some toast from his plate that she took without a second thought.

After a second bite and a third gulp of coffee, her eyes finally met Remus' again.

"You don't mind then?"

"What should I mind?"

She gathered her courage and fought the urge to crawl under the table. She could not explain why she was so uncomfortable with this conversation. It probably had something to do with seeing a father figure in Remus.

"Us."

She didn't realize that she had admitted to another intimacy.

Severus heard her, and was silently happy that she'd acknowledged it, even by oversight.

"Again, why should I mind?" Remus asked, looking amused, when silently he was admiring both the young woman and his friend in their courageous fight for their mutual happiness. "Hermione, if you don't mind sharing your night with our less-than-charming Slytherin, I seriously have nothing to add to the matter."

"Who said he was less-than-charming?" Dora's voice reached their ears and her smiling face brightened the room a moment later.

"This is a nightmare," Severus muttered, but it turned out half-hearted. This was, after all, just a normal morning. At last.


	15. The caves

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter books and movies is, sadly, not mine. It belongs to the amazing Jo Rowling, and I am simply borrowing her toys to play with them for a bit.

**Author's note:** Please don't shoot me, I left enough hints to calm your distress... ;-) There will be more soon!

Thank you for all your wonderful comments, especially those of you who took the time to give constructive criticism re:spelling and grammar. I am currently without a Beta (again, yes) so please, forgive any mistakes.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

**The caves**

She took a deep breath and turned around to face her reflection in the mirror.

She had put on her bathing suit, a suit Dora had the common sense to pack in her stead. She was glad to have it with her now. It was a modest one-piece, light blue with silver strands cupping her breasts.

She felt naked, looked malnourished and completely unattractive, but took another deep breath to calm her nerves while pulling a long linen tunic over her head that covered her body up to the middle of her calves.

Severus stood still, silently and patiently as he had a tendency to, waiting for her where she'd instructed him to go.

The dunes.

He saw her approaching, a vision in white, the tunic dancing seductively around her thin frame, the sunlight uncovering the colour of the bathing suit hugging her gently.

The wind tousled her hair mercilessly, and she tried to gain control over her stubborn mane.

The wind won, and he again felt kissed by God to be able to hold this woman in his arms every night.

She was breathtaking, and as she crossed the final few steps to come within his reach, he found himself silently in awe of the woman in white.

"Aren't you a little overdressed?" she asked observing his robes when the silence grew uncomfortable. The garment was a casual variation of his usual style, black, long and covering from collar to shoes. The only difference being that, instead of donning it, he held his cloak over his arm.

"Considering the season, I might ask you the opposite," he returned.

The day had been unusually warm for late November, but the morning felt more like late March.

"I think the protection charms the Order put on the house still hold the chill out," she said, somewhat wistfully at the mere mention of a part of her past.

"You might be right," he confirmed, offering her his hand that she took.

"Now, having established the weather, we should probably inquire about the state of the roads, or," he smiled, and it was a smile only she was privy to "in our case the state of the dunes, although there is not much to inquire about, and I doubt we would find an informed traveller around," he said, looking over her shoulder into the vast stretch of private sand and sea.

"Severus," she smiled back and reached up to tuck a strand of raven-black hair behind his ear.

He closed his eyes, relishing the touch.

She observed his face in wonder. It was a constant surprise how differently she saw this man nowadays. Or perhaps he was showing himself to her in a way she could not see him before, when she was a pupil and a girl.

"I didn't know you were such a Regency connoisseur."

He looked at her and she was seeing a man of twenty, not thirty-eight, such was the ease in his irises.

"Where are we walking to my dear?" he asked, speaking the endearment more freely with each use.

She would never tire of hearing it.

"The caves," she said, a knowing grin appearing on her face.

He seemed surprised.

"What, you thought we didn't know about it?" she asked, turning her gaze to the ocean.

"It was a secret of the Order elders. I was told it was a very special place, a place of great comfort and happiness, and should be guarded as a treasure. Dumbledore," he said, pausing as she turned her focus back to him "had taken me there on one occasion. I have not been there after it."

"Why not?" she asked, perhaps in too much of a haste, and she felt him grow distant before her eyes. "I'm sorry…" she uttered, but he interrupted her.

"I didn't want to," he said, and to anyone else it would have sounded as his old, detached tone of voice. She heard the pain beneath.

"Severus," she took his hand and observed the net of veins branching under the pale skin "Let's go there. Together."

Their eyes met and he seemed surprised.

"I… wish" his voice trailed off for a moment before he continued in a calm, intimate narrative "I wish I could take you there, but it is a place of special magic and unfortunately I don't have a portkey."

She smiled wider, knowing of the intricacies of the caves and their special cloaks of protection.

She opened her palm and a small white shell appeared, bathed in sunlight.

"Let's go to the caves Severus," she repeated, holding out her opened palm for him to cover it. "It's a return-trip portkey, courtesy of Fleur."

He was silent, no small amount of wonder evident on his face.

"It was my secret hiding place when… when things got too hard," she said, her voice dimming at the memory. "I knew how to find it, even without these," she said, glancing at the portkey. "But now, these will do well I think…" she added, trying to dissipate the sadness and tension building inside of her.

"I would like to go with you there," he said gently. "Very much," he added in a whisper before his palm sneaked over hers.

She smiled. "Portus."

They were transported through the water, holding their breath even with the knowledge of the charm's protection. The magical current carried them through scenery hidden from the human eye, through flocks of fish and around coral reefs that branched and flourished out of the dark grey and blue sand.

Finally, a cliff appeared and as they approached it, they were pulled into its body and suddenly air gushed into their lungs and the droplets of water slid down their clothes as if it were made of glass.

She steadied her step holding onto him more firmly while the magic dissipated around them.

The warm white sand tickled the soles of her feet and the torches bathed the vast expanse of the hall in colours of burnt gold.

"It's exactly as I remember…" she said, her face radiating the warm glow of the magical space surrounding them.

She kneeled down and ran her fingers through the grains of sand, so soft that it felt like salt dust or crystal powder under her skin.

The caves, or rooms, three of them, were connected with passageways and illuminated by the stones reflecting the light of the main hall that held the centre of the shape with its rotund lake and fire-lit walls.

It was wizard-made, a work of finest artists and architects of their world, a secret held most dearly and a place of great healing.

"Hermione…" he said softly as she stood up and walked back to him, taking his hand in hers again.

She smiled. "Magnificent, isn't it?" she asked gently, surrendering to the warmth growing within her.

It was always the same, whenever she needed comfort, she would swim out into the open sea, wish to see it and the currents would pull her until she was standing here. The caves embraced her, the magic responded to her, and the warmth bubbling within her now was the exact feeling of times past and spent in this sacred place.

"Come, let's take a walk. I should give you the grand tour," she said, her spirits rising from the moment they stepped in, and her courage strengthening as her mood improved.

The only sounds one could hear were the soft murmur of underwater wells as they filled the small lake with fresh, cool seawater and rang off the ancient stone hull.

"I was here before, but I don't remember it being so…" he paused.

"Comforting?" she offered, and he nodded.

"It is sentient. It knows when to offer and when to restrain its magic," she explained.

"Sentient?" Albus hadn't told him about that part.

"Well, not exactly like the Room of Requirement. The caves sense you, and emit emotion one is in need of, or certain scenery. For me, it was mostly peace and quiet."

He wrapped his arm around her waist as they stood at the farthest removed part of the triangle of halls, observing the game of lights on the surface of the lake.

After what seemed like a lengthy silence, but a comfortable one, he pulled her gently into his arms and whispered a kiss into her hair.

"Thank you for bringing me here with you," he said, and she wrapped her arms around him and simply nodded into his chest, brushing her chin against the soft black silk of his robes.

"Severus," she called for him a while later as she sat on the edge of the lake and dipped her feet into the water "let's go swimming."

He walked up behind her and knelt on the soft sand at her left. "Swimming?" he asked with apprehension and worry etched in his voice. He didn't plan this, and he hated unplanned situations, even as benign as a dip in the translucent and very inviting waters.

She was definitely picking up on the magic radiating off the walls, as she was feeling strong and bold, even mischievous enough to stand up and pull her tunic over her head.

He lost his ability to speak as she uncovered herself before his eyes.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, swimming," she confirmed his rather obsolete question.

She stood there, hands on her hips, her suit clinging loosely to her torso and her hipbones protruding visibly, her arms thin and resolute, and with a smile that could, and would in the future, get her whatever she wanted from him.

"I am not going in there," he said in his detached voice, standing up and taking a step back from her. He was in danger, and she had no idea how appealing, even in her weakened state, she was to him.

"Why not?" she asked, closing the distance again, her confidence enhancing as she recognised his reluctance for what it was… shyness. She wondered when was the last time he took his clothes of in front of a woman.

"I will wait for you here, watching you frolic in the waters. You go, enjoy," he tried deflecting her course of inquiry, but she was not so easily sidetracked.

"Severus…" she whispered, seductively, tauntingly, as she put her hands on the row of buttons on his robes "come swimming with me," she added and laid her head on his chest. "It's just a swim."

Just a swim.

Dear Merlin, he was in a lot of trouble.

She then stepped away, turned on her heel and marched to the edge of the lake, walking in until the water reached her waist.

She swam into the nourishing water then, dipped her head under the rich kaleidoscope the water surface created and when she emerged a second later, water dripping from the tips of her curls, he felt his hands reach his buttons on their own accord.

She watched him, for the first time, as the thin ivory fingers opened a narrow path of skin down his chest, and the warmth inside her spread through her blood.

He took off his robes in one swift pull, almost as if prolonging the action might give him time to retreat.

And there he stood; her own dark man, his chest bare, and his wiry arms leaning loosely on his hips, still clad in his black trousers.

He toed off his shoes and socks, and as the light, the light that seemed to fill his lungs with each breath he took, surrounded him, he walked in.

"Aren't you going to take those off as well?" she asked from her safe distance, but there was no mistake in the mischievous tone of her voice.

He shook his head slowly as he walked further in, the water saturating the fabric, making it cling to his legs.

She was almost not sorry at all that he chose to leave his trousers on, for the sight was quite alluring as it was.

She swam farther so that the water reached his waist rather than hers when they met.

"See, isn't this better?" she said as she eyed his chest hungrily. Unable to control herself in this strange place, she let her palms move over the smooth expanse of skin before her eyes. She looked up into his eyes, seeking permission when skin touched skin, and he nodded, still unable or untrusting himself to speak.

And then she slid her fingertips over every hill and valley this newly uncovered sight of his anatomy provided, slowly, gently, learning the map of him, committing it to memory as he stood there, at her mercy and hoping his body won't betray him.

"How come I never saw you undressed before?" she asked after a long moment, her hands pausing their exploration and resting at his sides.

It was a valid question, considering the rather intimate arrangement they were having.

"In bed," she added, lifting her eyes away from the soft narrow dusting of dark hair trailing down his stomach. "How come you are always so covered?"

He sighed, closing his eyes in an effort to calm his mind. He was still acutely aware of her palms pressing gently into his waist, and also very aware that his evening potion was not currently there helping him control himself.

"It is not proper otherwise," he said, his voice intimate and patient.

She looked away, into the water for a moment, trying to find her own words. "I like you…" she said, still not facing him. "I like a lot about you. You are so…. different that the man I thought you were… the man you still seem like to others."

"How?" he asked, fighting with his voice and loosing as it dipped dangerously low, sounding like a growl.

She shivered, but it pulled her up to face him again.

Emboldened with the magic within her and around her, she continued. "With me, when we are alone, you are this man," she ran her palms up his sides and he shuddered "this wonderful man who is a mystery and at the same time the only thing I understand in this haze of my current existence. With you, this seems… possible" she said softly, her palms coming up over his bare shoulders, shoulders she touched, caressed, grazed with her fingernails before letting her motions move over his upper arms and the firm muscles stretched under his skin.

He cupped her face in his palms, letting her curls fall over his wrists, feeling the weight of it, the water, the wet copper that was her coat of arms shimmering in every strand of the silken mane.

"You are the biggest surprise that has happened to me," he said, his voice heavy with repressed emotion. He was not a man to swashbuckle his way into the hearts of women with perfectly placed compliments and endearments.

"I run to your bed every evening, and you receive me without a word," she whispered, her breath cool over his wet skin.

He rubbed his thumb gently over her cheek. "Does that worry you? That we never talk about what happens?"

She closed her eyes, her head bowing and her nose brushing his wrist. "Sometimes."

"Would words help you? Ease your doubts?"

"I don't know… Sometimes I think… yes."

He lifted her head to face him, his palms still the commanders of her fear, of her shyness. "And other times?"

"Other times I just want you to hold me," she whispered, her voice frail, her eyes bared before him.

"I am not…" he paused, gathering up his courage, because this was worse than facing Voldemort, facing himself, his heart, his hopes. "I am not a man with hopes," he started, and she firmed her grasp on him, while one of his arms slid down her side until it took place on her waist, claiming her as much as reassuring her.

She waited patiently; her words were not of importance now, far more weight lay in his pending confession.

At last, he continued. "With you, I am starting to revise my belief in it. In everything. And every night when you walk into my room and climb into my bed, I…" he stopped, unable to continue any more.

She caressed his face gently, letting him know it was ok to continue, and ok to stop.

But he had one more thing to say.

"If you want me, in any way, shape or form, I am yours."

If she knew it before, and she did, hearing it made her aware of him on a completely new level.

'_If you want me, in any way, shape or form, I am yours.'_

"Do you want me?" she asked, point blank, her voice shaking as the realization of his confession hit her. "You offer yourself to me, you say such things…" she felt tears gather in the back of her eyes "…and I want you, all of you, I want to fall into you and take it for granted…"

"Then do," he pleaded with her now, seeing her distress, feeling his own shake him. "You ask if I want you? Do I want you?"

His voice was raw silk, the rasp of water over sand, the edgy flow of lava over stone, and it burned her.

And then his lips were on hers, gentle, but firm, slow, but leaving no doubt that there was passion suppressed behind his pressed lips.

When he moved away, just enough to speak, and not enough to let the strands of his hair leave the comfort of her clinging locks, with her warm breath teasing his cheek, now moist from her tears, his tears, or perhaps it was just the sea, he whispered.

"One day you will be healed, and no doubts will mar this connection we have. You will feel my touch and know, you will let me kiss you, hold you, make love to you and take you and you will know that you are treasured, cherished beyond any other. You ask me if I want you. Yes Hermione, my dearest, I want you. As a companion, as a woman, as a lover, and much more."

She wanted to tear away from his arms, this was what she wanted to hear, but it was too much, she was terrified of the mission that stood ahead of her, of clearing the path so cluttered with hurt, with memories, with pain to reach this day, this place, this state of mind he dared to speak of.

"Listen to me…" he whispered, his tone pained, troubled, knowing. "Don't run from it. I will never let you down, or leave you alone to face it."

She shook her head, tears falling again. "You never have until now."

"And I never will."

"Severus, what if I can't… what if…"

"Shhh…." He brushed his lips over hers again, his voice rippling over her eyelids, her neck, her core. "Say the word, and I am yours."

She felt the pull of his mouth over hers, the promise they offered, the tenderness, the peace, the passion, the safety.

She closed her eyes, leaning into that promise, and into the warmth of his kiss where she could feel the future, their love, the life that they could have, could fight for, together.

And when her lips parted, the moment before his' captured the open invitation, a word, carried on the current of her innermost being, reached his soul.

"Yes."

His mouth closed over hers on a relieved exhale, and, unable to control his passion in this magical place, he pulled her into his arms and so it was that in the waters of the lake they shared their first heated kiss, a kiss that would seal their fate on a much higher level that they were aware of.

Their eyes closed, neither noticed the torches shimmer, nor the subtle rippling of the water around them.

Locked in a loving embrace, her head cradled in his palm as he explored the gentle softness of her mouth, they didn't notice the water changing colour.

Their tongues entwined, brushing, caressing, daring to go deeper, further, feasting on themselves as two souls starved for love as they were, they didn't see the water starting to burn on the edges.

Such was their moment of abandon, such was her surrender that, when she felt the numbness take over her body, she leaned into him, the warmth inside of her leading her into believing that it was how being safe, protected, loved, adored felt.

It was only when the limp body of his love fell into him and broke their kiss that Severus realized the cave has dramatically changed its state.

Surrounded by a circle of fire, the stone burning red around them, the water black as oil, and her relaxed body signalling the loss of consciousness, he realized they were in trouble.

Fear even beyond his imagination seized him as he realized something had gone terribly wrong. The flames had started to die down as soon as they tore apart, and he lifted her into his arms, his steps long and struggling against the black pool.

He stepped out of the liquid only to witness it return to its original state a moment later, become still and colourful as it was before.

In its stead, the sand where he'd laid her was starting to take on the darker hue, and with terror he'd noticed her legs covered in a black web, a web that seemed to be rooted at her…

He laid a hand under her bellybutton only to pull away as if burned.

Without a second thought he uttered a quick 'Divesto' that confirmed his fears.

Her body was a deathly shade of white, and rooted inside her womb and spreading like a poison through her flesh and under her skin was a pool of black.

He was too experienced not to see it for what it was.

He was too experienced not to know what triggered it.

He looked with disgust at his bare forearm and the Mark it was a prisoner of, at her weak body, before he got hold of himself, dressed her back with one swish of his wand, and picked her up, pushing the portus shell between their palms, and with utter desperation said the charm to take them back.

As they moved through water he let his tears fall, the desperate scream that died in the water surrounding them together with all the good their moment of surrender filled him with.

His only wish was to bring her back to those who were not tainted by the Darkness.

He just hoped he would be there in time.


	16. Waiting

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, here to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you for all of your comments! Some of your solutions seem far more creative than mine, but I hope you will be pleased with my plotline. It has been marked from the first chapter, and I have been leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me that will all come (hopefully) together during the next few chapters.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15<strong>

**Waiting**

They land on the beach and he has enough common sense left not to bring her to the house where Teddy and Victoire could see her.

So he sends off his Patronus to Remus and apparates them back to Grimmauld Place.

In mere seconds the clear blue of the seaside sky is replaced with London smog, and then he allows himself to sink into the carpet in the living room, his knees betraying him while still holding her unconscious body close to his heart.

"What have I done to you?" he whispers, and then checks himself. Fast as lightning he is back in his full strength and a spin later they are in his room, their room, and he is carefully placing her on the bed, disgusted that he had been touching her for so long.

He is a selfish creature, or so he thinks, for not letting go of her sooner, but his Mark is covered, and the web of black has stopped spreading for now.

He runs a quick diagnostic spell over her and sighs in mild relief. At least she is not in pain, although he can't tell much more.

He looks then into his palms, and brushes his hand over his other forearm before he pulls at his robes in rage until they are nothing but a pile of torn cloth at his feet.

He looks at it then, the Mark, his constant companion and worst regret, and he wants to scream, but it would disturb her, so he swallows it like countless times before as he observes his damnation.

Back in the caves she asked him why he always wore so much clothing, even to bed.

He shook his head in irony and disgust at himself. How weak he was, what a pitiful excuse for a creature, always bringing hurt and pain to those he loved.

He was cursed, from the day he was born he endured nothing but a life of hardship and misery, always unloved, always unwanted, and whenever he allowed his heart the privilege of hope, his gruesome reality tore into that light to squash it like an undeserving moth that he was.

Two loud pops announced that his message was received and being responded to.

Dora ran into the room a second later, out of breath from running up the stairs at breakneck speed and with Remus following her only half a step behind.

"Severus…" she uttered while reaching the bed and looking at Hermione in obvious worry. "What on Earth happened to her?"

He lifted his tired eyes away from the face of his loved one and in a voice of one resigned to his loss, he answered them.

He told them about their day, safely tucked into the corner of the room as the two aurors ran spells over Hermione trying to closely determine a type of curse.

They listened, exchanging worried glances as he described the change of the water and the caves.

As he neared the end of his tale, Dora walked to him and put a friendly hand over his shoulder as he spoke.

"It was my Mark, it was the Mark all this time. She didn't let anyone else touch her but me, and I thought it was trust. She ran into my bed and her nightmares lessened when she was near me, and I let myself foolishly hope that it was the connection growing between us. All this time, I have been hiding this damned arm, not allowing her to see it, fearing it would remind her of her violation when in fact, it was me who was violating her, every day, drawing her to me when she had no other choice but to respond to it."

"Severus, it's a very rushed conclusion…" Remus started, but Severus moved away from Remus, turning his back to the patient consolation and trust of his friend.

"You have seen her," he started, his voice cold, raspy, abandoned. "She bleeds blackness. It is a clear sign of the Binding curse. I have seen it before, and so have you, the war had given us many unlucky slaves of the Dark Lord to witness this on. She was programmed to respond to a Mark, probably some feeble attempt of the unlucky sod that kept her in that house of horrors to keep her close if she ever got a chance to free herself."

He turned back to them, and his pain bled out of his irises as his eyes met Dora's. "She was never mine, she was drawn to me because she didn't have a choice, and I mistook it for love. I will never forgive myself for this."

"Severus…" Dora spoke softly coming to stand before him. "If there is one thing that we have learned from your example is to never form an opinion on something or somebody before we are well informed. There are pieces that don't add up, and you are too upset to see them."

"We cannot be sure it was the binding curse. The reaction of the caves is a factor we have to count in." Remus added, being the voice of reason as usual.

"The caves have just enhanced the pull, making her act more freely, be bolder…" Severus returned, rubbing his hand over his face. "What a monster am I, when my body is tainted with the same magnet it was used to pull her into the claws of her rapist? How is it any different that holding somebody under Imperio?"

Remus cut in again. "It is different, because, and I say this with a huge grain of salt, IF you are indeed right, you have not done this consciously. You cannot take the blame for a hypothetical something that you were not aware of."

"Excuses do not exclude me from the guilt. I should have realized… when she melted down after Ronald Weasley touched her; I should have known she was bound in dark magic. I am an idiot." Severus said, starting to pace the length of the floor at the foot of his bed, their bed, he remembered only to push away the thought before it broke him.

"She is better now, the web has retreated," Dora said glancing over at Hermione. "We need to call a curse breaker. I would suggest St. Mungo's, but you know more about Dark Magic than all of them together," she said to Severus, who let out a bitter laugh.

"My expertise is needed again. Charming," he squeezed through his teeth. "Only there is one little problem. I cannot drain the curse out of her, she is pulled to my Mark," Severus said tiredly.

"What do we do then?" Dora asked.

"She is infused with dark magic. There is nothing to dwell on. It is obvious." He turned to them both. "Summon William. He will know how to follow my instructions," he paused, his eyes hitting the floor, and the silence was broken only be the faint ticking of the old clock on the far wall. "Just… call him."

* * *

><p>It was mid-afternoon when a soft knock interrupted his thoughts and Dora entered with a tray of food into the bedroom.<p>

He seemed as if he'd aged another decade during the couple of hours he was left alone with Hermione.

She set the tray down as gently as possible and went to her.

Hermione's body was drenched in sweat, her hair matted to her face and she was tossing from time to time, her words, for the moment, incomprehensible.

"How long has she been like this?" Dora asked, coming to sit next to Severus.

"The better part of the last two hours. It is milder now. I would usually use Muffliato, but she cannot take any more magical exposure at this moment."

"Do you think the diagnostic hurt her?"

"It did, but it was necessary. Like the sting of a vaccine needle."

"You should eat something," she said, but he just waved her off. She sighed, letting the matter drop, and moving her attention to Hermione again.

"Did she speak?"

"Oh, that she did," he answered. "I have been privy to another set of details I never wished to hear… and this time I could not even hold her."

Sadness enveloped her as she saw the dark circles under his eyes.

"So hold her," she said, softly, but resolutely.

He looked at her as if she'd gone insane.

She stood up. "Lie down next to her and hold her. If we know one thing, it's that you make her feel better, and don't give me that pitiful excuse that your Mark is hurting her."

"Watch your words Dora," he growled seriously.

"No. You need to man up and get into that bed with her. You won't hurt her. If the Mark is the problem here, cover it up as you have in the past. And before we discover what is wrong with her, I will not succumb to the scenario you have determined to be the truth."

"I admire your positive attitude, but cannot share in it," he answered, but stood up. There was something in the manner of speaking of Dora Lupin that rendered a man reluctant to disagree with her.

"Severus, she needs you. Are you going to deny her?"

He sighed, then checked that all the buttons of his shirt were securely fastened before he walked to the side of the bed.

Dora watched him with a small smile on her face. She was getting through to him. She was convinced they were missing something, something Bill could help them uncover. She was well informed and experienced in the matters of dark and light magic equally, and could not put the connection Severus and Hermione shared into the former category. No, there was more to this, she was sure of it, and until they uncover it, she would just have to make sure that Severus doesn't burry himself too deep into his darkness.

He sat on the bed, carefully, watching her uncovered legs for any sign of the blackness spreading again, and then he brushed his hand gently over her side.

It didn't burn, and as he slid the palm of his hand over her stomach, it remained cool to the touch.

He let out a breath he had been holding and then slid his arms under her body, lifting her into his embrace.

Hermione curled into him, her tremors subsiding almost instantly, and her face taking on a much more serene expression.

"She is wet through," he said, standing up with the woman in his arms. "I usually use magic, but this time…" he said, motioning towards the door.

Dora understood, and without another word opened the door to let him walk through.

Hermione moved then, her eyes fluttering open and a sigh escaping her lips.

"Severus…"

He just held her more firmly and followed Dora out of the room.

She grabbed hold of his forearm, and he died a little more inside, but kept his pace slow and steady until they reached the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

"There is a change of pyjamas in the bottom drawer of the dresser," he told Dora as she opened the door of the bathroom for him.

She nodded and followed his instructions, giving him privacy to undress her and fill the bathtub.

She returned a while later and opened the door just enough to put the clothes on the edge of the wash basin.

She saw him kneeling beside the bathtub, moving the washcloth gently, patiently over Hermione's arms while she lay in the water, her eyes closed, her face relaxed, content.

She saw his arm, the marked one, supporting Hermione's weight as he lifted her up to run the soapy washcloth over her back, never minding the wet sleeve of his shirt that clung to his skin as this tortured young woman relaxed her head onto his chest.

It was relief, it was comfort, and Dora knew that it could not be the work of the pull of dark magic.

It was a far stronger magic.

Love.

* * *

><p>It was early evening rather than late afternoon when Bill Weasley apparated to Grimmauld Place.<p>

Remus and Severus were each immersed into researching the old texts ensconced in the recesses of the Black library, usually locked under strong protection spells.

If there was one time Remus was glad he listened to Severus and left the books in the library, it was now. The books were dangerous, and having them in the same house with Teddy would have been a hazard were it not for Severus's carefully built multilayered wards.

They worked resolutely, in perfect silence, each occupying a large aged oak writing table under the bright light of a reading lamp.

"Gentlemen," Bill greeted them, breaking the stale flow of ideas in their tired minds with his bright gaze. "I apologize for the delay, but I wanted to come as prepared as I could."

"Thank you for abandoning your work on such a short notice," Remus said with a friendly smile.

"Nonsense. This is our Hermione."

Severus tensed, although reason dictated that he had no reason of right to feel the pang of jealousy.

Remus and Bill both turned to Severus at the same moment. It was Bill who spoke. "Don't worry Professor, she might be ours, but she is yours before that."

Severus looked at his shoes. "I have not been your professor for years, and the level of ease with which you have read my thoughts is disconcerting to say the least."

"Thoughts? No, just scents. I never knew before I became a wolf just how much information people shared unconsciously. The body is a wondrous machine. But," he paused, covering the length of the room in three steps "let's confer. I need as much detail as you can give me," he said turning to Severus.

"Mr. Weasley…" Severus started, retreating back into his old mode.

"Of course, I offer a vow to secure the privacy of everything you will reveal to me," Bill said before Severus could voice his concerns. "And please, call me Bill. Mr. Weasley is my father."

Remus observed with pleasure how Severus had decided to trust the redhead.

"I accept your offer, not out of distrust, for you have proven to be far above your peers in intellect and discretion," Severus said. "But I have witnessed two wars that flourished on the fertile ground of secrets recklessly unprotected in a peaceful past."

"Understood. Remus," Bill turned to him "would you do the honours?"

Their hands connected, and before the binds of the vow circled around them, before they did the ritual, Severus looked the young man straight in the eyes and from the deepest, most sincere place in his heart, extended an invitation of friendship.

And invitation that was accepted as it was given.

With grace, honour and respect.


	17. Footsteps

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, here to entertain you.

**Author's note:** My computer crashed, and when I say crashed, I mean my Windows burned and there was no going back. Thank God I do backup... I was without my laptop for three and a half weeks, and then there was some other things going on... I apologize to each and every one of you who have waited so long for an update. I thank you from my heart for following this story and I promise, once again, that it will not be abandoned.

Now... to the next chapter!

When I got my computer back, I went into writing overload, putting down over 20 pages for this chapter initially. I decided to break it down into manageable portions. They are explanatory more than anything else, but I still hope you find them enjoyable.

I'll update depending on your response. Bless you all who review, you make my heart smile.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16<strong>

**Footsteps**

It took days just to find the magical imprint and separate it. In theory. It was under her skin, and branched out entangled around her blood vessels, making any attempt to perform magic on her a high risk at best.

Severus wouldn't allow it even if the risks were lesser.

Fortunately, the dark ink-like manifestation has not materialized on the surface of her frail body since that first day.

She was still mostly unconscious.

He was with her almost all the time, and he is still there, holding her, feeding her, changing her clothes and washing her hair while she barely recognizes the person at her side.

He is here because leaving her is not an option, even if he were too weak to stay.

So he stays. Not out of courage, for this has nothing to do with courage. Not because he has to, because she needs his presence.

He sleeps in the same bed as she, as they used to for months.

She never wakes enough to recognize him, but he is certain she knows he is there.

He feels her relax under his touch and he has long ago surpassed the level when he felt physical pain at the anguish constantly building inside.

His life seems to be a life of pain. A life of denial. A life of hopelessness.

So he stays, to give her some hope, at least it's what he keeps telling himself.

In reality, he stays because to give her hope maintains his hope alive.

One afternoon a week into their struggle to save her yet again he is walking into the living room, a light sheen of perspiration reflecting light off his forehead, and if he noticed he would realise it was something completely atypical for the man Severus Snape used to act as. He is beyond caring at this point.

His clothes are a bit rumpled, normal, some would say, if it weren't him.

He walks in at the precise moment when Dora Lupin materializes in the fireplace.

He turns and just nods silently.

"Any development?" she asks, dusting the soot off of her clothes.

"Nothing substantial," he answers. "How are the children?"

"Thankfully too occupied with each other to notice anything peculiar, although that little Veela is a smart one. Might be my daughter in law one day if we leave them together for a few more days."

"Hmmm…. Possible," he answers.

"Severus, I'm joking," she says softly, and walks closer to him. "How much have you slept last night?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh and leaves her question unanswered.

"I thought so…. Severus…"

"Dora, we need to discover what is wrong with her. It's been eight days, and she is still barely conscious."

"Has she spoken anything today?"

"She has…" he pauses, and she sits on the couch, waving her wand in the general direction of the kitchen.

He can hear the teapot filling itself with water a moment later, and he continues.

"… mostly more of the same… recollections of that day, nothing coherent. The only time she is even remotely present is…"

Dora smiles. "Is when you are holding her."

He cannot reciprocate the positive attitude. "She is responding to the pull of the curse. It is logical that her mind clears when she is in my presence."

"Bollocks. Merlin, you are a piece of work. But this is old news, at least to me. So would you be a gentleman and fix us some tea while I rest for a moment? Those children ran me rugged today," she said, turning the conversation into more pleasant waters.

She had been flooing back and forth two times a day to Shell Cottage, since they'd decided it more prudent to leave Teddy with Fleur and Victoire.

He is back before she realizes it's been minutes, not moments since she issued her half-order for the fragrant beverage.

She rubs her temples and keeps her eyes closed until she can no longer hear the repetitive noise of the spoon grating at the porcelain of her tea cup.

She looks at him and gratefully accepts her tea cup.

He sits in the armchair across from her and takes a long, deliberately slow sip of his tea.

"Has Harry been here today?" she asks and Severus merely closes his eyes in affirmation.

Harry Potter has been a daily visitor, and, as Severus has to begrudgingly admit, a valuable help in getting to this point in their research.

"I do believe he is still here, with William, as per usual."

Dora smiles softly. "Who knew?"

Harry was, when at first informed of Hermione's condition, eager to help in any way possible, and has been rather discreet about the whole ordeal, which surprised Severus greatly.

What surprised them all is with what zeal he approached research on curse breaking spells and binding magic.

"Yes, it seems that Mr. Potter has developed quite an interest in curse breaking. The auror office might lose their most famous protégé after all."

"Severus, can't you call him Harry?" Dora asked softly.

He gave her a blandly ironic look, which in his tired and overworked state was all he could produce. "No."

In truth, he did call him Harry, in their solitary conversations, and there has been quite a few of those in recent days, but it was still a familiarity he did not like sharing with the others in the house. Not even one curious pink haired witch.

It was, unfortunately, a familiarity that Harry had no problem sharing, and as it happened, he had heard the floo activate and came downstairs to greet Dora and catch Severus for a word.

"Hi Dora, good to see you back." he ran a hand through his hair and sat quite unceremoniously into the remaining free chair. "Severus, we have completed the fourth stage of spell work," he said to the older wizard, turning slightly in his chair.

Dora hid her smile behind the rim of her tea cup, and Severus didn't have enough energy to sneer at her half-hearted attempt. Instead he motioned at the tea set and another cup materialized on the tray.

"Thanks," Harry said as he poured a cup for himself. He was never much of a tea person, coffee was his drug of choice, but he found himself quite enjoying the relaxation this brew provided.

"Queue me in will you darling," Dora said as Harry emerged from his short moment of repose.

"Yes... right." He looked at Severus, but he just shook his head.

"Nothing new," were the only words spoken, and Harry sighed heavily.

Turning back to Dora, he started. "As you already know, Bill believes it to be a multi-layered curse. We have been," and here he pauses to observe Severus once more "experimenting with extraction spells... trying to determine the way in. We had some success this morning."

Severus just sneered.

"Ok, will somebody explain what I missed?" Dora said irritated. She was often the last one in the know; flooing back and forth often left her in the dark.

"Sorry, I thought Severus told you already."

"There was nothing to tell her Harry," he said cautiously. "You have been experimenting, but you have not tried it on her. Hence no news worth getting our hopes up yet," he said, his voice slightly less controlled at this particular moment.

"Well, we could try..." Harry started cautiously, only to be interrupted once again. This was not a new discussion.

"Absolutely not," Severus's words rang just a few wisps louder than the absent click of china as he rested his cup on the saucer. Still, loud enough for his message to be heard loud and clear. "As I have already told you and William repeatedly, there will be no test runs. She is suffering enough without it adding to her distress."

The mention of her inner turmoil always brought their conversations to a halt. Harry knew the intricacies of Hermione and Severus's relationship by now, and he had also come to recognize clear signs in the usually locked down wizard, signs that signalled he was clearly more informed on the topic of Hermione and therefore not to be argued with.

"When you are sure in the spell work, and if she remains stabile, then I might consider allowing you to apply the knowledge," Severus finally said, and it was more progress than in any of their previous conversations.

Harry has up to now learned when to count his blessings and has so chosen to remain silent for a few moments more, rather than react brusquely and inadequately.

"Well, as the closest thing to a partner she has, and the only one she lets touch her, I have no leverage over you on this one," Harry said, earning a raised eyebrow from Severus.

"Just this one?" Severus retorted.

Dora observed the exchange and stifled a laugh. Severus hadn't bothered to deny the rather apt title Harry had used in describing him, nor was his retort said with any real venom.

Harry took it for what it was, an attempt at conversation, and didn't push further. He was growing into his own, and with each day passing it was becoming clearer to all around him that Harry Potter was neither the image or character reflection of his late parents, but rather his own man, a young wizard, a husband, a man who lived through far too much in far too short of a time and was, as all of the other war survivors were, simply trying to find ways to live in a world without the shadow of Voldemort.

Severus has learned to respect that side of the young man, and although it was far too soon for open acknowledgements, he had also learned to respect the young man in general.

"We should know the sequence by tomorrow morning," Harry continued his previous trail of thought. "If she remains in her current state, we could diagnose the precise curse used on her," he said to both wizard and witch.

"That is good news Harry," Dora said in her motherly voice, secretly proud of the young man and his interest in this area of magical work. He never got to really explore his magic or his talents, and while no one could deny that he was an extremely powerful wizard, they all expected of him to chase after the bad guys until retirement, should he live to it, saving the world they knew and loved as he did so far.

"This is amazing work," he continued, falling into a conversation with Dora while Severus observed quietly from his chair, sipping his tea from time to time. "I never thought I would be interested in healing."

"It is not an unusual choice for you," Severus said quietly, drawing attention to his person.

"You have been pushed into the role you played without discussion. Besides, you would not be the first of your blood to find an interest in that particular field," he added with carefully hidden sadness in his voice.

"I hope you will tell me more about it someday," Harry said, knowing when to stop pushing for information. He had heard stories from Remus about his mother's desires to be a healer, desires that were put on hold with his birth and then... and then. "I would be honoured to hear about her from you. Someday, when you are willing," he added, and Severus nodded without a word.

"If you'll excuse, I should go back upstairs," Severus said placing his tea cup back on the saucer and standing up.

They observed his ascent and when he was out of hearing range, Harry slumped into his chair and rubbed his temple.

"I never thought I'll see this day," Harry said quietly. "I mean..."

Dora smiled. "I know what you mean. It's amazing, isn't it? How he, the spy, the notorious poker face can't but walk around with his heart on his sleeve."

"I know he loved my mother," Harry said, with a strange mixture of regret and jealousy coating his words. "And I know it's strange to think this, I mean this is all so unprecedented really, but..." he looked at the witch "... he loved her enough to spend eighteen years protecting me, fuelling himself only with the memory and that love, staying focused... Merlin, he must be the most focused man on Earth," he chuckled, partly to retreat from his disturbing thoughts. "But now... I mean, I never saw him so..."

Dora jumped to his rescue. "...open. I know, but that doesn't mean he loved your mother less. Darling," she sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees "you understand that he had no choice but to bury any reaction deep under his occlumency shield. If he'd walked around with the face you see on him now while Voldemort was still kicking, we would not be sitting here. But he is human, he is a man, and a very loving one, despite your memories of him."

"I know," Harry said grudgingly, still trying to blend the new recollections with the old memories. "It's still... weird. When did this happen? How did he come to love her so much? He didn't have time to get to know Hermione we knew."

"Did you forget about the Pensieve?" Dora asked coolly.

"It's not the same thing," Harry said, not trying to negate what was real now, and the love Severus had for Hermione was very real and visible, especially in the aftermath of recent events.

"Is it not?" she continued. "I admit that, at first he went into the Pensieve as much as any of us, finding clues, the pieces of the puzzle, but as time went by and we were fewer in number," here she paused, not trying to make Harry feel guilty, but simply giving him a moment to put things in their rightful perspective "he went more in, and after a while, he started changing. He never said a thing, mind you," she accented. "Still kept it all hidden, until the night we found her. Now, I don't know if it was one memory or the combination of it all, did he realize how much alike they were, or maybe he felt safe to fall for someone who, let's be honest, no one had much hope of finding alive. A broken man that he was for so long, it's not unfathomable that he would grow attached to yet another unattainable woman. The difference here is,"

"She survived. And they are well suited, at least..." he paused, feeling uncomfortable all of the sudden. "... they were, the person she was before, she craved knowledge, challenge, she would never be happy with one of us lads. She was too smart even as a firstie." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But what now? How will she go on now, and with him? Even I am not so stubborn not to see a connection in character with Hermione of the past, but it's difficult to get it now."

Dora smiled and got up. "That is because you're missing one crucial fact. Severus Snape is a tender, gentle, loving man. He is patient, kind and devoted, and his heart is warm. He loves her Harry, and despite her trauma, despite this curse, she loves him as well."

He met her at eye level, standing up as well and sending the tea set back to the kitchen with a lazy wave of his hand as an afterthought.

"It's not a connection to her saviour, it's not an infatuation," she continued. "They are still well suited for each other. Perhaps not in magic anymore, but her character is still there, only she is at present too frail to be the girl she was. Her intelligence is still there, it saved her life in captivity after all, while bringing her unimaginable loss, yes, but still, it saved her." She fixed him with a serious stare. "Don't do something stupid Harry, like doubting their relationship. It is real, and it is amazing. Be a good friend and support her. Even if it means becoming friends with Severus. I assure you that you still don't know him at all, and you would be greatly surprised if you would give yourself a chance."

She gently tapped him on his arm then proceeded to the kitchen to make supper. Remus would be home soon, and from time to time she loved being a typical Huffelpuffian caring wife.


	18. Segrego

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, here to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews!

As promised, here's the next chapter, post haste.

A quick note regarding Severus's behaviour. My premise is that, given the opportunity, he would have been as tender and patient with someone as he is with Hermione in this story. It is a trait of his character to be patient and loyal, he is not a man of rash decisions and moves, so these are my arguments that this is not out of character, but a development of the existing character.

Also, let's not forget that the wonderful Mr. Rickman is exactly 66 years young today! Happy Birthday Alan!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

**Segrego**

He rested on top of the covers, his back propped against the headboard, holding a book in one hand and caressing Hermione's hair with his other while she lay draped over him.

She was rarely fully aware, ever since he brought her back here eight days ago. She had good and bad moments, all firmly connected with how much at peace she was.

When she was afraid, and it would always happen when she was left alone for too long, piercing screams would tear through the halls of Grimauld. They have learned by day three that half an hour was the longest she could go without Severus.

When she was in her nightmares, he would have to force open her mouth and pour Dreamless Sleep into her to get her and himself some rest.

He tethered on the edge of being disgusted by himself and pushing it all away to serve her. To help her. Most of the time, he managed to stay on that side of the line, and do whatever it took to keep her at peace.

She seemed to respond well to his touch, and it puzzled him greatly, since he still somewhat believed that it was the Binding curse keeping hold of her body. He was in the minority, and he had started to doubt himself on that accord as well.

It was the incident of the fifth night that fed the doubt now, the incident when she tore at his shirt in her panic, revealing the Dark Mark, leaning into him as she keeled over, the nightmares tearing through her subconscious as she relived her first abortion.

The curse hadn't activated. There were no ink-webs appearing under her skin. There was nothing but a weeping, inconsolable woman mourning the loss of her unborn child while unable to distinguish memory from the present.

He started to doubt himself that night.

And beyond all reason, he started to hope.

Now, as she lay silently draped over his chest with the tips of her fingers resting on the ragged ridge of his Nagini scar and her arm pressed into his side, her breaths even and calm, he felt that hope again.

He didn't mind the touch on his scar. It was her touch. The skin was sensitive, yes, but not to the point of pain.

He became engrossed into his book and unaware that the motions of his hand stilled and it now rested on the small of her back protectively.

Sometime later a small tap on the door followed by a careful turn of the doorknob roused him out of light sleep that he had succumbed to.

Dora entered softly, having cast the spell to reveal if the silence was real or a Muffliato, knowing not to enter if the latter was the case. She was happy to realize the silence was, simply, silence.

She registered the tableau the couple depicted and her heart warmed at the sight. Severus's sleepy eyes revealed that this had been a peaceful afternoon.

"I'll just put this over here," she said, her voice barely above whisper, not wanting to wake Hermione up. She seemed to be genuinely asleep, rather than just out of it as most of the time.

"Thank you Dora," Severus said softly, his gaze filling the short sentence with the magnitude of his gratefulness.

"Come downstairs if you can after dinner."

From the tone of her voice he understood the other men had finished their research. Taking a slow breath he replied with a nod. "I'll come as soon as possible."

The door closed after Dora, and Severus moved his hand to Hermione's cheek, trailing a finger softly over her skin until she started to wake up. He had learned that waking her gently gave him the most probable chance of having her recognize him.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked through him, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

He closed his eyes.. He could do this.

When he met her eyes again, the same blank, trusting gaze, he forced himself to smile. It all came easier after that initial smile, it always had.

"Wake up darling, you need to eat something," he whispered and she moved to sit next to him slowly, hugging herself as she became more aware and looking at the comforter instead of him.

He placed him palm over hers where it rested on the edge of one misplaced throw pillow in the middle of the bed. If he handled her right, she was able to do basic things herself, even in her state of reduced awareness. Things like feeding herself.

He moved off the bed holding her hand, and she followed, walking over to the small table where two bowls of beef stew stood together with a couple of bread slices on a separate dish.

Simple food, minimal cutlery, they have learned over the first few days trying to get her to eat anything.

He put the spoon in her hand and led it to the bowl, then sat across from her.

She repeated the motions of moving the spoon from the bowl to her mouth and back in slow, measured intervals for a minute, then stopped and watched him eat.

He put his spoon down, tore a morsel of bread from his slice and put it in her hand.

She didn't move, so he moved his chair next to her and took the bread to her lips.

She opened her mouth and took the bread from him.

Her hand stayed unmoving, and he silently took her spoon and fed her the rest of her meal, murmuring softly as if feeding a weak infant to coax her into opening her mouth.

When she finished her bowl she just sat there, and he hurried through the rest of his supper as she watched him, all the time holding one of his hands.

He wondered sometimes if she understood what was happening to her and was simply unable to voice her thoughts or show her distress, but he discarded the thought after the second night.

He counted that fact as a blessing and hoped that she was not trapped in limbo. Sometimes, being unaware was better than the alternative.

"Come," he said as he stood up, and walked her to the rocking chair moved to the window so that she could watch the evening sky. It calmed her for some reason, and when she settled, he could go downstairs for a short while.

As he motioned for her to sit, she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hiding her head into the crook of his neck.

She drew deep breath after breath for a minute or two, simply staying close to him, her eyes closed and her face showing a small smile, a smile he could not see, but only feel the release of tension as her arms relaxed around him.

He held her, rubbing small slow circles into the root of her spine, resting his own head on her shoulder and letting her curls tickle his neck.

"I need to go downstairs for a while," he said, even though he knew she would not understand him. "The others are trying to discover a way to heal you, and they might have found it."

She said nothing, but the delicate murmur of his voice seemed to calm her.

He moved out of their embrace and led her the rest of the way to the chair. When she sat, he placed a book in her hands. She would not open it, but her fingers caressed the leather binding absently as she moved her eyes to the evening sky.

With one last long pained parting look he walked softly out and closed the door behind him.

All things considering, this was a good night.

Still, he leaned on the wall next to the door and rubbed his palms over his face and through his hair, brushing it away, trying to chase away some of the anguish with the motion.

He didn't see Harry further down the hallway, but Harry _had_ seen him, maybe for the first time after his recent conversation with Dora.

When Severus's eyes finally met Harry's, and before he could erect his walls back up, the younger man walked over and placed a hand on his upper arm.

"Thank you," Harry said honestly, green eyes piercing Severus's soul. "I keep thinking..." he paused, realizing where his hand was and letting it drop. "... if it were Ginny, I would be a wreck by now... Thank you Severus. You are a good man, and she is lucky to have you."

He could not hate the boy anymore. It was a long time since he felt that particular emotion with regard to Harry Potter.

"I am the lucky one Harry," he said, barely raising his voice above whisper. "Let's go downstairs, the others are probably waiting."

"Right," Harry said, nodding shortly.

They walked in companionable silence.

* * *

><p>"Gentlemen," Bill said as Harry and Severus entered the kitchen so often used for plotting and planning some or other Order task. This didn't seem any different.<p>

"I have found the pattern I believe was used to curse Hermione. It was a sixth level dark magic curse, which narrows it down significantly. After observing her for the past week and doing additional research on the water specimen taken from the lake in the cave and diagnostic spells at the place where the curse activated, I think we are looking at two possibilities, one more probable then the other."

He stopped his monologue, giving the group a moment to take in what he'd said so far.

"I have never seen this particular curse, that is, if I am right in my assumptions."

Severus snorted, but Bill continued, understanding his impatience.

"I need to perform the diagnostic on her, to confirm if the pattern matches the one we have managed to distil from your initial diagnostic records and our research.

"Do we get to hear what those two options are or are you going to keep us in the dark until tomorrow?" Severus asked, somewhat irritated.

Bill gathered his patience inwardly. Severus Snape was never a pleasant man, even in highly unusual circumstances as this one was.

"The first one, and the less probable is the Binding Curse," he started, and a knot formed in the pit of Severus's stomach.

"Now, I do not think we are dealing with that. It seems much too trivial to have been activated at that point, when taken into consideration that you were already in an established...pattern of behaviour," Bill said, not finding it necessary to delve into Snape's private affairs more than necessary, especially with the man in question sitting across the table from him and becoming more and more impatient.

Severus just nodded.

"I think we are dealing with a much more ancient magic. A ritual used originally to protect the virginity of young witches until the day they were married. A magical variation of the chastity belt, only with far greater consequences."

"Impossible. I would have been dead," Severus said dismissively.

"Very possible, when taking all the other evidence into consideration." Bill retorted assuredly.

"You can't seriously believe we are dealing with..."

"...'Segrego'. Yes I do believe that is what we are dealing with." Bill said.

"Could someone clue me in?" Harry said. He had been helping Bill with the research, especially regarding the caves and the lake and its protection factor, but this was the first time he had heard Bill's theory. Feeling a little bit left out, he couldn't hide the pang in his voice.

"Yes, I would very much like to be clued in as well," Dora said. She had not heard of this curse being used in any of the dark rituals, and she was an auror after all.

Remus, who had known about the medieval chastity curse, sat in silence, the wheels in his head turning as he observed Severus and the obvious denial of the cause of Hermione's condition.

"William, if you'd be so patient as to present a brief overview of the curse," Severus said, his voice even, guarded, as the torrent of emotions raged inside of him.

It was not the Dark Mark.

It.

Was.

Not.

The.

Dark.

Mark.

It was not him.

Not him.

"The 'Segrego curse', popularly known and used in the Middle Age as the chastity belt, was designed to kill any wizard who wanted to have sex with a virgin before her wedding night. During the wedding ceremony, the curse was habitually lifted, or, in case the husband was in war and not at the wedding..." at this Harry raised an eyebrow, so Bill paused, chuckling.

"It was not so unusual. In the Middle Age, men were off to lands unknown, fighting wars and one could send an ambassador to marry in his stead and name. While Muggles fought in the Crusades, wizards had to clean the mess left in their wake, eventually taking back into hiding an entire society of wizards living amongst Muggles up until that moment, but that's another story. The point is, one could get married and be miles away from his virgin bride."

"So the curse was not lifted until the wizard came home to sleep with his witch," Harry said, finishing Bill's line of thought.

"Precisely."

"Since young men and women are not habitually known to stay pure and chaste all on their own, given their hormonal levels and curiosity.." Bill continued, but was yet again interrupted by Harry.

"Thank God," the young man said, earning a chuckle from Remus who still observed the entire situation in silence.

"As I was saying... since it's completely normal to fall in love or lust or want to explore, a curse was put on young witches as they reached puberty and their magic matured to accept a sensual level that had extremely cruel effects on the wizard as well as the witch, ranging from impotence in men and complete closing of the hymen in women to frigidity, tactile abhorrence and in worst cases, when the couple actually managed to make love, slow and painful death within a day.

"I still cannot see how you deducted this is the curse placed on Hermione," Severus said.

"Can you not?" Remus said, earning an angry look from Severus.

"I refuse to discuss intimacies pertaining to my relationship with Hermione!"

It was Harry who spoke. "Look, Severus, no one is asking you to speak of intimacies. But I think we are all adult enough to talk about sex freely. After all, he is a Weasley, married to a Veela and has a kid," he said casually pointing at Bill and continuing while focusing at Remus and Tonks "those two are at it probably every night since he is part animal, and they also have a kid, and I" here he chuckled "well, I am married to a Weasley." He dared to show a smile even when Bill shot him a look. Harry just shrugged it off and continued bravely. "Sex is a conversational topic if I ever saw one."

"Mr. Potter," Severus gritted through his teeth "I am well aware of the facts you just mentioned, but I am not so open as to discuss details of my sexuality at the dinner table."

"Severus, relax," Remus said while laying his hand on his wife's thigh under the table. Harry was not far off the mark at his estimation.

He rubbed his temple. This was becoming a conversation he was not prepared to have tonight. Admittedly, the thought of the 'Segrego' curse never crossed his mind.

Begrudgingly, he asked Bill to elaborate.

"Well, my theory is that she was cursed at a very vulnerable stage, and the curse modified to activate not at the breach of her maidenhood, but at any attempt at a sexual relationship. She was probably well into her captivity when they placed the curse, which would explain why the curse activated at a minor sensual act of a kiss," Bill said, and Severus drew his wand, pointing it at Harry.

"Oath, now," he said and Harry needed a few moments to grasp what the older wizard asked of him.

"Certainly, but why?"

"As you said, you are married to a Weasley, and she is, well, related to Weasleys. I hate repeating myself, but that's obviously a necessity here. I do not want my private life talked about. So, oath, now."

Remus rolled his eyes at the theatricality of it all, but had to agree with Severus. Harry would tell Ginny, and she would let it slip eventually.

After the magic set on Harry, Severus turned back to Bill. "Continue, at your leisure."

"As I was saying, she was cursed while extremely vulnerable. From what you told me of the events of that day, it was the first time you had shared such a kiss."

Severus merely nodded.

Harry had maintained a surprisingly adult attitude.

Dora listened on, trying to push Remus' hand off her thigh. It was distracting her, and it was not the time to think of sex, but as Harry said, Remus was part wolf, and once his urges were awakened, it was only so much he could do to delay his reaction. She knew they would have an interesting night.

"Why am I unhurt then, and she is almost catatonic, if the curse indeed activated fully?"

"Tell me Severus, how much do you know about the caves?" Bill asked.

"I am marginally informed of their origin and protection charms. They are wizard made."

"Veela. Not wizard-made," Bill clarified. "They are sentient and quite protective when choosing to be."

"They can choose?" Harry asked.

"Indeed," Bill continued. "The caves are a special place, a place of comfort and warmth. Veela magic is different than wizard magic. It is sentient, but sensual, and for the lack of better description, confined into a different part of the magical core. Veela magic works in the best interest of the witch carrying it, even if the witch is not aware of its need. To put it bluntly, if Veela magic reacts to a wizard, he is as good as toast for all it may concern."

Dora's eyes grew as she met Bill's look. "Yes Dora, even in children. The good news is, it has to be mutually compatible magic to be recognized, so it will be a happy match. We are delighted," he said, slightly off topic.

"Is he talking about..." Remus asked, suddenly again focused on the conversation.

"Teddy and Victoire, yes," she said, giggling. "Wow, I never knew Veela magic works that way."

"It recognizes compatible magic, and protects it. The caves are built and tailored to keep large deposits of Veela magic reserves. The lake, you see, is not just water, but a depository of energy whose sole purpose is to seduce, love and protect."

Severus thought he would be sick, and Bill quickly caught on.

"No, not in that manner you are thinking of Severus," he said. "There was no manipulation of emotions, at least not at the level to entice you into a sexual act as if under influence of a love potion. No, in this case, I believe the Veela magic protected you both, absorbing the effects of the curse, because it recognized Hermione from earlier. She used to come there often, Fleur told me, so it's plausible."

"And the Veela magic in the lake took the effect of the curse instead of it hitting us how?"

"You said the water turned black, and started burning. It is what is described to happen to the body when the curse is activated. It literally burns with passion until it kills the witch or wizard, burning them from the inside out. Slowly."

"That's barbaric!" Dora exclaimed.

"It's a dark curse Dora, you can't expect anything other than brutality," Severus said calmly, starting to accept this.

"Of course, this is all an assumption," Bill said, continuing, wanting to finish this conversation and get some much needed rest.

"You are certain you have the pattern revealed?" Severus asked skipping to the point.

"Yes," Bill said, nodding shortly.

"Tomorrow morning," Severus continued. "Does she need to be conscious?"

"No, it's better if she's on Dreamless Sleep. In fact, give her a double dose tonight, so that she sleeps well through the diagnostics and gets a couple of more hours of sleep later to recuperate. It is crucial that she is well rested if we are to try to lift the curse off of her tomorrow."

"So soon?" Severus asked, revealing his worry.

"It is a well documented ritual, and the diagnostics will reveal the alteration. No need to wait, it will be safe."

He nodded in reply. "Then it's agreed." He stood up, wanting to get back to her and not discuss sex with this bunch of merry Griffindors and one obviously turned on Huff. Dora and Remus were really obvious, and he wanted to get away.

"I bid you good night," Severus said before turning on his heel and disappearing quickly.

The remaining group exchanged looks and burst laughing. "Poor guy, he really is repressed," Bill said, then turning to Harry, fixed a stern look on his face once again "and you, dearest brother in law, watch how you speak of my baby sister."

"Hey, I have your sister in the highest regard. And it's not as if Molly and Arthur raised you lot in a conservative and prudish home."

"Good God, they couldn't even when they tried. There are seven of us, after all."

"Too much information," Remus said, finally reaching his limit and pulling Dora out of her chair. "Good night!" he exclaimed, picking Dora up into his arms playfully and thudding up the stairs as they hurried to their bedroom.

Harry shook his head. "Well, he is a wolf, after all."

"Tell me about it," Bill said.

There was a distinctly positive feeling in the air after Bill gave them all hope to Hermione's recovery.

Neither wanted to sleep alone tonight, and after a week of labouring work, they both flooed back to their respective wives and into their respective beds, the Veela story still fresh in their minds, and to some right in front of their eyes.

And as each of the four men lay in bed next to the woman he loved, each in his own manner expressing his love, they were all very much aware that they were indeed, very lucky.


	19. Release

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, here to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! It truly amazes me every time I read your thoughts on my story. As some of you noticed, the whole curse plot bunny was well planned. We are now at the last transitory chapter. After this one, the story will start to earn its romance categorization.

Please, excuse the typos. This is a 5000 word chapter, but I wanted to bring this to you by tonight. You deserve it, my readers!

Enjoy!

Love, Anette

p.s. Translation of the first line is : "Body and soul to master are locked. Isolate."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18<strong>

**Release**

'_Corpore et anima ad dominum clausa sunt. Segrego.'_

Bill placed his wand back in its hold and brought the parchment floating in the air closer to his eyes. The yellowy page filled with complicated diagnostic arithmancy calculations held the final results of their morning's examination.

Severus stood on the other side of the bed, firm, poised, cold and detached, just like in his old days, sheltering himself as much as he could, obscuring his real turmoil from even the most observant of eyes.

Next to him stood Harry, pensive and quiet, his eyes trained on the quill that floated down to the bed after finishing its arduous task of writing down Hermione's destiny.

Bill took a long look at the results and slowly raised his eyes to the two men standing opposite of him.

He smiled.

A warm, wide, genuine smile.

"We have it."

Harry let out an audible sigh of relief, a feat Severus wouldn't mind repeating; only his breath has left his lungs long ago. So he simply closed his eyes in silent reverie.

He was innocent of his self-imposed crime, and the parchment now being passed on to him held the final proof of it.

"See for yourself," Bill said as Severus took the offered sheet.

He skimmed over the calculations, focusing on the result, his body still, and his eyes the only traitors of his cool facade.

"Well... well."

This was not the time to get emotional, there was rarely a time in his life that he had been granted such excursions, and never were they accompanying a happy event.

She was going to be fine.

This was the happiest news he'd received since... he could not remember.

He needed a level head.

They still had a job to finish.

"Harry," he started quietly, turning his eyes on Hermione's sleeping form, still heavily sedated on Dreamless Sleep of his own creation. "I will need all the wands in this house at my disposition for the lifting of this curse. We need to confer and agree on the magic flow during the casting of the counter-curse, and it is a meeting that will take two hours at least. She," he paused, leaning down to cover her with a warm duvet that had been removed while they performed the spell. "I dare say she won't wake for a couple of hours."

Their eyes met as he passed the parchment to the younger wizard. "But as a precaution..." he paused, wondering if the gentle understanding eyes following his words managed to read through his mask or was he simply letting on more than he thought he was.

"Could you floo your wife and ask her to come sit with her until we've..."

Harry nodded in understanding, being careful not to smile at the overprotective Snape. It was still a novel sight.

"Certainly. She was eager to help even before, but..."

There was no need to have small talk. They all knew the why's of Hermione's isolation from her friends, and understood it now more than ever before.

"I'll go now," Harry said and turned, giving the parchment back to Bill before he walked out.

"The library is where you'll find us when you return," Severus said as he turned on his own way to alert the Lupins via his own floo.

"I'll go fetch Fleur, we need Veela blood in the circle of casters to achieve the best results," Bill said.

"I concur with your logic William," he said quietly, still in his own thoughts.

Bill looked at the stoic man and after a mere moment Severus met his look with a raised eyebrow.

"You know this was the hardest part. If I dared, I'd inform you that it was ok to breathe now."

Severus snickered at the younger man's wording. "You may dare."

"Severus, she will be all right," Bill said pointedly. "You saw the analysis. And I cannot name a more apt wizard to lift the curse, even in its modified form, so I dare say you can breathe now."

"I'll breathe when she recognizes me."

* * *

><p>Ginny walked out of the fireplace a moment before her husband, eager to get to Grimauld as soon as it was possible.<p>

"I cannot believe he asked for me," she muttered to herself. She was well informed of all the events Harry was free to narrate, a fact that would serve as a fair reminder whenever Harry doubted the necessity of a wand oath during private discussions the week prior.

Harry walked after her, trying to follow her hurried footsteps as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Ginny, there is no one in there; they are all in the library, except Severus probably. Come," he took her hand and pulled her up the stairs.

They have indeed found Severus with Hermione. She was still asleep, and he sat in a chair next to the bed, holding her hand in his, his eyes fixed on her face.

It was such an unusual sight for Ginny, considering that she had never before witnessed her former professor in such an open gesture of love.

Such was her surprise that she stopped suddenly, and Harry almost bumped into her, halting at the last moment.

They knew he'd heard their entrance.

Still he kept his eyes on the face of his sleeping warrior.

Harry hugged Ginny gently, and she wordlessly leaned into him, her hands covering his over her stomach.

For as long as she lived, Ginny would never forget the first sight of Severus Snape's love for Hermione. Not because it was grotesque, unfathomable, unimaginable, but because it was a scene of such pure beauty and devotion, so subtle in gestures but the grandest in heart.

There is always a moment when we become aware of the vast diversity around us, and of the people walking around us, feeling, suffering, loving. Perhaps they are not our cup of tea, but they are someone's, and as Ginny watched the dark man's thumb drawing soft circles over Hermione's hand, she realized that he definitely gave his heart to the young woman.

She walked over to them at long last, and put her hand on his shoulder.

It was the first time in her life she had touched Severus Snape.

Her turned to her, slowly, not surprised at all by her appearance at the bedside. He turned to face a young woman with wisdom far beyond her years shining from her eyes.

"Mrs. Potter, thank you for coming so soon," he said, his voice usual for him now, but so very much new to her.

She smiled gently. "It was a long time in the making. I am sorry it was not by her choice," she said, her eyes finding the pattern of the rug suddenly very interesting. "I hope she won't be angry when she wakes up to see a face she didn't invite."

He stood up and motioned for her to sit in his place.

"Do not think such things. We know now that the curse she is still suffering from influenced not only her physical health, but her behaviour as well. She appreciated you as an old friend before..." here he paused; there was no need to go into detail. "Sadly, I do not believe she will recognize you even if she were to wake up. I am sure Harry explained."

Harry merely nodded solemnly. "She knows."

"Don't worry professor," Ginny said. "Go and figure this out. I want my friend back."

Harry walked over and leaned down, kissing his wife gently on the cheek. Her hand cupped his face instinctively. "We will. If anyone can do this, he can," he said gently.

They were almost out the door when Severus paused, turning to look at Ginny. It seemed as if he was trying to decide on something, and then he took a slow breath. "Mrs. Potter," he said softly. "If you were to experience any difficulties, do not leave her side. Send your Patronus for me. And..." he took another long breath, becoming extremely uncomfortable with showing his true nature to anyone other than his most inner circle. "... you may call me by my birth name."

There was no malice in his voice, no venom, no sarcasm. A guarded countenance, yes. Low voice, surely. He was still himself, only... different. What had happened to this man? There was one thing hearing of the vast change that occurred in Snape's behaviour, and one completely different thing to actually witness it.

"Very well then Severus." The name felt strange rolling off her lips so freely. "I insist you return the favour."

He bowed his head shortly. "As you wish... Ginevra."

She chuckled. "Merlin not that, Mum only calls me Ginevra when she is trying to bully me into something. Ginny. Please."

The tension somewhat dispensed by this informal conversation, he repeated the desired abbreviation of her official matronymic.

Soon they were on their way to the library, two recent allies, a teacher and protégé, Lily's men, Severus and Harry.

"You know Severus, I never thought I would see the day when you engaged into 'foolish wand waving'" Harry said with a chuckle.

"I never thought you would remember a word I said in class, let alone the first ones I said," Severus returned.

"I wrote them down actually. Not the wand-waving bit. The speech."

"I don't believe you."

"I have the parchment to prove it."

"You don't."

"I do. And I would give it to you, but I promised Ginny I'd frame it and give to our son, when we have one. It's quite the speech."

"I'm touched," Severus retorted sarcastically, but without real venom.

"We thought about naming one of our sons after you, one day," Harry added nonchalantly.

"You wouldn't dare!" Severus exclaimed.

"We discussed it. We want four children, two of each, but whatever happens, we'll be happy."

"Pinning a name like mine to an innocent is surely to cause undue pain to the infant," Severus said with a definite pang in his voice. It had surely caused him pain as a child. "Besides, I do believe we have more pressing matters to discuss than baby names."

They met with Bill, Fleur, Remus and Dora in the library and the next two hours were spent determining the sequence and proper wand movements of the modified spelly.

The incantation to neutralize the dark magic would be chanted by Severus and Bill, simultaneously.

Fleur suggested an old healing chant used in Veela rituals that would resonate with the neutralized part of the curse, diminishing it with repeated application and restoring some of Hermione's strength from before the curse's activation.

Remus and Dora were to chant in unison the counter-curse. It was agreed upon that it should be a magic stream already bound, making the counter-curse as powerful as the connection between the witch and wizard. And no one could deny the strength of the bond that existed between Remus and Dora.

It was well into the afternoon when Severus walked into Hermione's room. She sat in her rocking chair, and Ginny brushed her hair out with long, slow, calming movements, talking quietly about their happier adventures from the past.

It seemed to him that the sound of Ginny's voice felt familiar enough for Hermione to gaze absently out the window. It had snowed two nights ago, and the garden was a particularly endearing sight to behold.

He stepped up to them and knelt in front of Hermione.

"Darling?" he whispered, not bothering to hold back his endearment in the presence of young Mrs. Potter.

Hermione turned her eyes on him, but didn't seem to recognize him.

He took her hands into his, and she closed her eyes, sighing in relaxation.

He stood, and she stood with him.

He took a step, and she mimicked his motions.

When he picked her up to lay her on the bed, she curled into his chest and he was not strong enough to tear her apart from him, holding her pressed close to his heart for a long time.

She wound her arms around his neck and seemed to almost disappear in the broadness of his chest.

Ginny didn't say a word, but she walked over to the other side of the bed and turned the covers down.

Severus noticed and nodded in thanks.

"Hermione, darling can you hear me?" he tried again.

She wound her arms tighter around his neck, but that was all the response he got.

"I will lay you down now," he murmured, leaning as he spoke.

Her back touched the bed, and she instinctively let go of him and relaxed into the mattress.

"That's it," he whispered caressing her face softly. Her eyes seemed as if trying to focus on him, the strain evident, but she soon lost her battle and let her eyelids fall.

"You are tired. Here," he took a small vial off the stand in the bedside table, a dose of Calming Draught always at the ready. He nudged her lips softly with the tip of his thumb and she opened her mouth lazily, her eyelids still barely half-lifted.

"That's it," he encouraged as she swallowed the liquid, and as she finished, almost instantly, such was her frail condition, she started to succumb to its effects.

He arranged her so that she could comfortably set into the pillows, her chest clothed, but open to accept their charms a moment later.

When her eyelids dropped and her breathing started to even out, signalling she was close to sleep, he took his wand and cast his first spell on her since the day he brought her back to London, making sure she stayed dormant.

"Somnus," he chanted, and all the difference that could be seen on her was the depth of her breaths.

He then turned to Ginny. "Was there any upset?"

She knew he didn't ask out of mistrust.

"No. She didn't eat though," she said slightly ashamed that she failed to coax her into the simple task.

Severus sighed. "Don't reproach yourself. She usually only takes food from me if she is not willing to feed herself."

"Are you going to do it soon?" she asked.

"Yes. As the matter of fact, I need to ask one more favour of you. Could you go to the library and invite the others? I need to make sure she is..." What was he going to say? Ok? She was not ok. Stabile? Well, he put her under the spell, so she was definitely that.

He just wanted some alone time with her, even if it were just moments.

And Ginny was smart enough to realize it, and quiet her initial reaction. She merely nodded and exited the room, leaving them alone.

He turned to Hermione and sat at the edge of the bed.

"My love..." he whispered, and no other words were needed. He just took her small palm into his hands once again and sat with her, watching her in silence and hoping that the evening would bring good things to the both of them.

He heard footsteps approaching and stood, turning towards the door in time to see the small group of wizards and witches enter.

No one said a word, each knowing their roles and not wanting to waste any more time.

They formed a circle around the bed.

Fleur raised her wand first and started the low hum of her incantation.

* * *

><p>The dusk had long ago shied away from the night and the soft moonlight now enveloped two sleeping figures.<p>

Hermione lay in bed, much as she was when Severus put her there hours before.

They have ended the ritual, each playing their part as agreed.

He fell asleep in the armchair, his body curled unnaturally, as if his intention was to simply 'rest his eyes'. It was the truth. After hours of preparation and pouring large amounts of magic into the counter-curse, he was drained, physically, magically and most of all emotionally.

The presence of so many people around him, much needed as it was, unnerved him greatly. He was still, and would be for a long time to come, largely unaccustomed to allowing others to see his most intimate thoughts.

Surely, they were all friends, her friends, and some of them his.

They all said their goodbyes after dinner, quietly coming to knock on the door and whispering their hopes in Hermione's soon awakening.

She was still asleep.

He knew it was not the potion.

He hoped it was simply a case of her body succumbing to the accumulated exhaustion.

To be sure, he did another diagnostic when there were left alone, only to make sure that she was indeed merely asleep.

All he could do was wait.

It was killing him, this final stretch seemed never-ending.

She was free of the curse.

And he still did not know if all was changed between them or nothing at all.

He told himself that he would only rest his eyes. Just for a moment.

The rustling of sheets escaped his well trained spying hearing, such was his fatigue, and the charms cast to protect them in this house were strong and reliable, so the loss of his guard did not mark a change of character.

The shadow rising slowly as it accompanied its mistress from the bed passed his face without him feeling the loss of moonlight illuminating his brow.

But as a touch... as soft and surreal as a caress of a hummingbird's feather and gentle as only the touch of a loving soul could be brushed slowly over his cheek, his eyelids rose, slowly, still in the shelter of dreams just abandoned.

She stood in front of him, her knees touching his', her nightgown floating around her, hugging her body gently, the short sleeves and empire cut of the waist making her look even more angelic to his eyes.

Her hand didn't move from his cheek even when his eyes, now fully awake, connected with hers.

She smiled softly, and he would have missed it, but the faint illumination shone on her now, and he knew, he knew that she could see him. Really see him.

He wanted to call her by his most precious endearment, but his throat stayed silent in the moment of such gentleness.

His arms had more courage, skimming over the soft fabric of her nightgown until they wound loosely around her waist.

She leaned into him, slowly, and he made sure his arms would hold her steady, firming his embrace and making room for her to come into it.

As her other hand joined the first in its task and she looked down into his eyes, standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her, he knew he would give his soul if she asked for it.

A small breath left her lips as she leaned her head gently until their foreheads connected.

"Severus..." she whispered, her eyes closing as his arms claimed all of her, her head falling into the crook of his neck as he melded her body to his, his head falling on her stomach, and he could not speak, could not even return the gesture of a name.

He kissed her over the cotton of her night dress, the dress he clothed her in, and she let her arms wrap around his shoulders returning the liberating embrace.

Her palms felt, and explored the wideness of his muscles, the taught plains that shuddered softly...

She stepped back only so much to be able to rake her fingers through his hair and pull him up at the attention of her eyes once more.

Those oceans of control, of suppressed pain pooled over now that she stood before him, calling his name, holding him, letting him embrace her.

He shook silently, the last strands of his detachment tearing under her loving gaze.

And then... then she moved until she sat on his lap, her legs falling over one side of the plush armchair, and he was quick to support her back.

"Shhhh..." she cooed as she pulled his head into her chest and wrapped her arms around him once more.

The wave of cognisance washed over them as finally the dam broke and his tears wet her neck.

"I thought I lost you..." he rasped into her hair, and he didn't care, didn't care that he was openly crying and she knew it, she could feel the tears trickle down her chest and pooling in the valley of her breasts.

"I know... I know my love..." she cooed back, her fingers ghosting gently over his scalp, the silken strands brushing her skin with tantalizing tenderness.

His heart leapt and he raised his tear soaked eyes to hers. "What did you call me?" he asked with all the broken-hearted insecurity of a boy too many times rejected.

She smiled. "My love. It only seems fitting, doesn't it?" she replied with a soft smile as she brushed his tears gently with the tips of her fingers. "I don't know what happened, but I remember your voice breaking through the silence, when it seemed never-ending. Your voice caressing me, sheltering me from my demons, bringing me back, only I could not come back..." she lost her voice as he own eyes teared up. "Severus, what's wrong with me?" she said, the terror now overflowing her every other emotion.

So swift was his reaction that she did not realize he had pulled her into his chest and was desperately clutching her to him until she felt the comforting brush of his bare chest beneath her cheek.

"Nothing is wrong with you. Not anymore. You are well, and the rest will sort itself out with time," he said into her hair, his hands seeping warmth into her bony back.

She was so thin, he realized as she relaxed into his touch even more.

An owl hooted outside, and a car honk passed as an afterthought moments later somewhere in the distance.

The old grandfather clock chimed three times.

It was the dead of the night and he never felt more awake.

After a contemplative moment, her mind became once more aware of the missing days. "What happened to us? In the lake?"

He sighed. This was really not the time for such a conversation, and they were both too tired to venture into it.

"If I tell you the basics, will you promise me to go to sleep and postpone the detailed questions for tomorrow morning? You are still weak."

"You want a blind promise?"

"Darling..." he sighed, and she understood he was barely awake himself.

She smiled, leaning in and gently kissing his cheek. "All right."

She nestled back into his chest, and a seemingly long time passed before he spoke.

She kissed him, and all the tingles that ran down his spine were good ones. No dark curses. No pain. Yes, he still needed reassurance.

It was heaven, and he got lost in the moment of the sheer simplicity only such a casual yet intimate act could portray.

"Severus?" she roused him from his thoughts, her voice gentle, but impatient.

His warrior.

"You were cursed, in captivity, and when we... kissed in the caves, the curse activated. It was designed to kill you and whoever dared to touch you, and it would have, were it not for the lake and the deposits of Veela magic that protected us both and soaked up the dark magic. You were out for eight days. Today is the ninth, although judging by the old clock, I should say tenth. We performed the counter-curse this afternoon."

"We?"

"Remus, Dora, Bill, Fleur and Harry."

She sat up to look at him. "Harry?"

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. "He has proved to be quite... tolerable. And a valuable member of our team."

"You make it sound like an army operation."

"It was. Hermione..." their eyes met again. "You were..." he shuddered at the memory of that first day. "... let's just say, for now, that I thought I would have to lay you to your grave before you knew what I felt for you, and it was a thought I still cannot shake. I don't think I'll ever shake it."

She hugged him, her kiss this time falling onto his lips. "I remember you... I didn't know what was happening, but I knew it was you holding me. I could feel you," she whispered, and he just pulled her back to him and kissed her again, softly, slowly. He trailed soft kisses over her cheek until he reached her temple.

"I love you," he rasped, his lips resting on her hairline. His voice dripping like thick molasses and soothing her heart. "I need you to know that." His fingers were entangled into her thick curls now and feeling every digit, she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes, wanting more, needing more. The gesture was encouragement enough, banning all insecurities, and sheltered in the darkness and with her firmly wrapped around him, on her own accord, he continued. "I am hopelessly and completely yours, my darling, beautiful warrior. We have lost so much time, so much of our lives spent in despair, in pain, in sorrow... and I love you, I have fallen in love with who you are long before you returned to us. Your wit, your courage, your heart... your heart Hermione, you have so much heart. I wouldn't dare to ask for it, not even a part of it, but if you wished to..."

Here he stopped, feeling her shake in his arms. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders desperately, and she sobbed her quiet release into his chest.

"You speak of heart..." she whispered finally, sniffling but not raising her head from her comfortable position. She could not face him yet. "No one knows you Severus Snape. No one but me, and I have never thought I would be so cherished. Not even before... when I was normal, did I hope... well, I did hope, but who could have so much heart? And then after... you took me in, into your bed, into your arms, into your heart and I kept asking myself why... To speak of my heart when yours is such..." she sighed, and as her warm breath sneaked inside his half unbuttoned shirt, he let the tingles burn his skin.

He listened on.

"I am broken and I don't know if I'll ever be whole again, but I do return your love, and I am as equally yours as you are mine. I don't understand what forces brought us together and intercepted our paths, but you are the only man I trust now, the only one I could let touch me, only one who I want to touch me... But I don't know myself anymore. I don't know what is to become of me..."

"You will discover yourself. I only hope to be beside you while you do," he said gently as he pulled her into a proper kiss.

They sat in the comfort of their embrace for a long while, exchanging caresses and promises fit for young lovers, because indeed that they were.

It was when his question was answered with silence that he picked her up and lay her in bed before he stretched beside her, pulling her into his arms, and closing his eyes as well, for the first time in his life with the firm reassurance that his love was returned.

And so it began.


	20. Safe

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, here to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Well, here we go. I'm putting a "Fluff alert" sign on this one, and some of the future chapters. You have been warned. This chapter is double the usual size, and I have been experimenting with dialogue quite a bit trying to create an atmosphere with spoken words only.

There have been suggestions in the comments that I would like to address. This is not a story where they get married, have a hundred of babies, build a picket fence around Spinners End and have two dogs and four cats.

This is a story with a ton of love and the power it can have on a broken woman and an equally (although not it the same way) broken man. I am not saying there won't be babies. Honestly, I have no idea myself. But if you wish them to have triplets two years in a row, I'm sorry, you are reading the wrong story.

I thank you for your sincere support, it warms my heart.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19<strong>

**Safe**

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Severus?"

"Ask your question woman."

"Not until you open your eyes and look at me."

"It's early, go to sleep."

"But I want to ask you something!"

"You can ask me when the sun goes up on the horizon."

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Are we boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

"Yes."

"And you really love me?"

"Yes."

"And you still won't open your eyes?"

"Will you go back to sleep if I do?"

"I won't."

"There is your answer."

"But I am not sleepy!"

"Then you better find some amusement."

"Your feet are cold."

"That's because they are uncovered."

"Ooooops... sorry about that."

"Doesn't matter."

"Do that again."

"What?"

"That."

"This?"

"Yes."

"You like that?"

"Very much."

"And this?"

"Equally if not more."

"And if I do that again will you open your eyes?"

"I... might be persuaded."

"Then I just might persuade you."

"Might?"

"It's under consideration."

"Oh really?"

"Did you know that a small wrinkle appears above the right corner of your lip when you're trying to suppress a laugh?"

"I do not think I am that easily readable. There is no wrinkle and no suppressed laugh."

"Oh it's right here."

"Is it?"

"Oh yes. Perfectly visible to the observant observer."

"Quite an observation."

"And there it is again... and you called yourself a spy?"

"Still not going to open my eyes. But that was a worthy shot."

"I see an eyebrow rising."

"You do not see any such thing happening. My face is the epitome of a man in deep sleep."

"I do love your sense of humour."

"I am merely stating facts. You should put that pretty little head of yours back in its rightful place and go to sleep. My shoulder is getting cold."

"This better?"

"Much."

"I am still not going to sleep."

"If you wish."

"I do."

"Then do."

"What?"

"Whatever you like."

"Any suggestions."

"There are a couple."

"I'm listening."

"I'll share them with you when I awaken."

"You know, this little wrinkle is simply adorable."

"There is no wrinkle, and there is nothing adorable."

"You are utterly adorable."

"I beg to differ."

"Haven't you been informed that it's bad manners to differ with your girlfriend?"

"I haven't received the memo."

"It's right here, on the night table."

"Nice try."

"Severus?"

"My lady?"

"I think I like you even more with a shadow. Gives you a vagabond air."

"Vagabond? You wound me madam."

"Well, I like it, and as your girlfriend, I have some say in your appearance."

"You do?"

"Indeed I do. It's in the memo."

"And, and I shudder to ask, are there any more parts of my image you'd like to adjust to your preferences?"

"To me you are perfect as you are."

"How touching my queen."

"But I do have one idea about the hair."

"I am not cutting my hair."

"Actually, I was thinking about letting it grow out a few more inches. Only to rest on your shoulders."

"Interesting suggestion. It will be taken into consideration."

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"The sun is up."

"It is not."

"You wouldn't know, would you?"

"I know everything."

"Yes, and I am the Queen of England."

"You are my queen."

"How romantic. I never knew a pink fluffy bear was hidden under those black robes."

"You should see the Cupid tattoo on my butt."

"Oh, that will be a memorable event!"

"I'm sure it will."

"I'll mark the date on my calendar."

"Make sure you draw a heart around the date."

"With an arrow?"

"Naturally."

"Do you know what is the best part about this conversation?"

"Me besting you?"

"Don't be so sure about that."

"Enlighten me."

"I am now privy to your biggest secret."

"Actually Minerva knows about that tattoo."

"She does not!"

"Ask her."

"If you think for a second that I believe this cupid tattoo story, you must really think me a dunderhead."

"I would never."

"You wouldn't?"

"It said it was poor taste."

"Said where?"

"In the memo."

"I love you."

"I love you back."

"And I wasn't talking about that tattoo."

"You are notoriously hard to sidetrack, did you know?"

"It might have been brought to my attention previously."

"Nicely said."

"I was talking about that wrinkle."

The non-existing one?"

"Keep telling yourself that."

"It is not my biggest secret."

"And what is?"

"If I tell you, you must never repeat it."

"I give my girlfriend pledge to never reveal your biggest secret."

"I have super powers."

"You _are_ a wizard."

"I am not talking about those abilities."

"Super powers? Such as?"

"I can make beautiful witches go back to sleep."

"I am not pretty."

"No, you are beautiful."

"Severus..."

"Don't argue with a sleeping man."

* * *

><p>"Severus?"<p>

"Yes?"

"Open your eyes."

He did.

She smiled, and it was all he needed. All he ever needed.

It was probably well into the morning, if not dangerously nearing noon, but he couldn't care less. The previous day, week had left its mark on everyone, and he was really not surprised that he slept so long.

No. What surprised him was the level of her recovery. It was, simply put, miraculous. They expected her to be awake and alert once they removed the curse weighing on her, but this... well, not this.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly, into her ever-present and oh so beautiful birds' nest of a hair.

"Rested," she murmured, her palm sliding slowly from his opposite shoulder down to the middle of his chest.

She sat up and he regretted the separation instantly, although his shoulder welcomed the release of position with a dull ache of relaxation.

She watched him now, her eyes observant, her hands itching to follow their path. She was curious.

"Strange," she added to her answer.

He moved one arm under his head and watched her curious gaze travel over him.

"Strange?" he asked, seeking elaboration.

"Light. Yes, that's the word. I feel light. And I haven't felt like this since... well," she looked down at her hands. "Since before. Severus," she sought his face again "tell me."

It was a simple plea, but direct and unyielding.

So he told her. He told her of the events of the past week. He explained, patiently and tentatively, and somewhere during the long and emotional conversation Hermione ended up back in his arms. She needed his touch even more than while she was cursed, and she felt it acutely, as if a constant cold threatened to seal her into the darkness of her memories if he was too far out of her reach.

They spoke for a long time, not rushing, both trying to understand what it was that changed and how.

She told him, finally and after some subtle coaxing on his part, about the need to feel his touch.

He laughed softly. "My darling, I can think of a worse predicament than having you in my arms most of the time," he said softly.

This man, this tender creature felt so safe, so warm and inviting to her, but his arms gave her something more than comfort now. It was as if his warmth literally seeped into her muscles, and she could not remember being held ever before.

She told him so.

"We thought it might happen. The curse was on you for a long time. It fed off of your muscle memory."

"I see," she said, gazing through the window, absentmindedly stroking a narrow patch of naked skin below his neck.

He wanted to keep silent, he tried, but a groan escaped his lips anyway, and his eyes shut at the sensation.

She sat abruptly, the reaction startling her, and as quickly as he drifted off, he was back, alert, and repentant.

"I'm sorry..." she muttered but he was quick to sit up as well, taking her hands in his own.

"No, I startled you... I... it was foolish of me," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"Severus, look at me," she asked softly, but securely.

He did, and she gripped his hands a bit more firmly. Her eyes were so big, so open, so innocent as she recognized the lust in his'.

Her hand drifted up his torso slowly until she reached the exact same spot she caressed a moment earlier.

"Hermione," he rasped, pleading with her.

She carried on, ignoring him, until a soft scratch of her fingernails over the tender spot made him shiver as he fought to stay silent.

"Please," he whispered finally, placing his hand over hers. "You have no idea what an effect you have on me," he explained, somewhat embarrassed.

He could feel, hidden under the sheets ruffled around his waist just what an effect she had on him, and he cursed in his head for forgetting to take his potion. It wasn't needed in the previous days, after all.

"Then tell me," she answered boldly, breaking their joined palms and cupping his face.

"I can't," he said, meeting his eyes. "It's not... important now."

"Everything that happens between us is important," she parried.

"Hermione..."

"No. Don't hide from me. Not after everything. Not after what you did for me, not only last week, but ever since you rescued me."

She sounded so confident, so strong, and his chest filled suddenly with such pride.

She moved her hands slowly over the soft skin below his neck. "Tell me, is this ok? When I touch you like this?"

She was shaking, a fear gripping her insides, but she carried on, drawing random lines with her fingertips.

"Yes," he managed to squeeze out.

She really had no idea.

"And this?" she asked again as she moved her tender explorations over his shoulders and down his arms.

A deep sigh was all the answer she got.

He was so worried about frightening her. He could not predict, even with his vast knowledge, whether she would welcome his touch or shy away from it, or worse.

"And if I were to kiss you right... there," she asked softly, sensually, as she leaned in and caressed that same infamous spot.

"Merlin," he groaned as his hand reached up and sneaked into her hair.

Gently and ever so unwillingly, he pulled her up, away from her mission to drive him mad. "I am a man Hermione, a man who loves and desires you very much", he finally spoke, pushed into his confession by her unyielding touch.

"Well that is fortunate," she teased, sneaking her arms around his neck and moving closer into his embrace, almost sitting on his lap. "Because I love you and..." she paused, but collected herself soon "and I do desire you as well. I remember our kiss in the caves, and I want to feel like that again. Like you made me feel then," she stopped, suddenly shying away from his eyes again.

It was his turn in this delicate dance to lead, and he suppressed his body as much as he could and urged the blood to return to his head. They both needed the words to be said, and they were both equally afraid of walking this road, each for their own private and painful reasons.

"Tell me," he whispered as he pulled her closer, so she now sat inches away from him, her thighs pressing onto his. "Tell me about the cave."

"You know... you felt it too," she answered, still not meeting his eye, and he knew it was not out of lack of feeling.

"Did you... like it?" The words felt like razors slipping over his lips and even though he knew, beyond a doubt, that his love was reciprocated, he still feared. He would fear for a long time to come, a man such as he was couldn't forget his scars so soon.

She laughed, that soft, melodic kind of laugh women often used to flirt and tease their lovers, already conquered, but still not entirely secured. It was a laugh so commonly heard early in a relationship, so frequent between young lovers, and it was a laugh Severus hadn't heard for years, ever since... well, for a long time.

It was in that precise moment that he really started to believe that a normal, happy future could be possible for them.

"It was beautiful," she whispered as she leaned her forehead against his. "It was..." she paused, trying to move even closer, so that they touched completely, she needed to feel him, but his hands, so leisurely resting on her hips held her back now.

"Severus?" She spoke, her frail confidence registering his subtle resistance as a denial of intimacy.

He knew his mistake the moment she spoke, and one look into her deep amber eyes confirmed it. He was such an idiot.

She tried to move away, but those same hands that held her back now continued to hold her in the same place.

"Stay," he rasped. "I want you, close, and more."

"Then why..."

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line before dropping his gaze on the rumpled sheets. He just couldn't find the words at that moment.

She followed his look, a moment long enough for her to understand.

"Oh."

"Indeed."

She let out a long breath and a faint smile fluttered on her lips as she met his eyes again. "I thought I was making you uncomfortable," she said, blushing instantly as she realized that she was, indeed, making him uncomfortable.

"I should..."

"Stay," he said softly, almost playfully, and no one would ever hear him speak in this tone of voice but she.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Unless you still wish to..." it was now his turn to avert his eyes again.

They were acting like a pair of fumbling teenagers, and it would be silly, corny, were it not for the delicacy of her condition and his paranoid fear not to cause her further distress.

"I..." She honestly didn't know. Having realized that his arousal was mere inches away from her, that there was a physical demonstration of the desire she saw in his eyes left her quite uneasy. "I don't know. But could we please start using full sentences again?" she said, and it dissolved some of the tension.

"All right," he said softly, slowly.

"You asked about that kiss in the caves. It felt," she blushed, but continued "I guess it felt a little like that," she sneaked a look at his lap. "Like I was waking up, inside, and I wanted you closer, and I welcomed your touch, your hands, and I could feel you," she blushed further, but her words were steady "I could feel you brushing against me and I wasn't thinking about the past, I just... wanted to feel more of you. And then it all went black."

"It certainly had," he said, trying to find that same courage she had moments ago, and be articulate as well as sincere. "Hermione," he took her again into the safety of his arms, being considerate about the detail they were trying to talk about at the moment. "I need you to understand that I will never rush you into intimacy of any kind."

"I know that..." she started but he placed a finger on her lips. "Please, I am still the dark and brooding Severus Snape, even though you have drawn out a side of me I am not sure anyone would believe you of even if you took Veritaserum. I do not speak of intimate things easily. In fact, it is the scariest thing I can imagine doing that isn't really life threatening."

She chuckled, wisps of air brushing against his knuckle, but stayed silent.

"That being said," he took a deep breath and the pause would be uncomfortable were it not for the soothing touch they were both bestowing upon another. "I am a man who has gone for far too long since a woman last touched me intimately, who wanted to share tenderness and passion with me."

She wanted to protest, but his pleading eyes silenced her once more.

"I would never, will never push you into anything you don't feel ready for. But know that I want you, have wanted you for a long time and what you felt in the lake are barely whispers of the passion I hope we will one day share. I will wait, and I can wait for you," he said, shaking his head as he readied himself for another confession "I would not have it any other way," he concluded and let his finger fall from her lips.

"I love you," she started, leaning closer to him. "And they would believe me, but I will never speak of this intimate side of you to anyone in detail."

"In detail? Do I sense a Slytherin loophole in that line?" he asked, his brow quirking, and she had the decency to blush.

"I have to be able to say, very generally, and to the most trusting of girlfriends, that you are the kindest, most loving and gentlest man in the World."

"You will ruin my reputation," he joked, and her lips curled up, teasing back.

"Which one? War hero? Saviour of the Gryffindor princess? Spy extraordinaire, holder of Order of Merlin, First class?"

"Bat of the dungeons," he added, and she burst out laughing.

It was music to his ears. "Seriously, Severus Snape, that is one title you shouldn't worry about anymore."

"Just promise me that you will come to my rescue when Molly Weasley tries to hug me for finally dropping the act."

"So she knew it was an act?"

"You should see the bloody jumpers she sent me every Christmas. Insufferable chit. And to think that if it weren't for me, she would never have passed her OWLs."

"What?"

"I was her study partner, but that is a discussion for another time," he simply said, with a happy twinkle in his eye. "I owe her a lot," he did share, and she settled with waiting to find out the details.

"Severus, what you said, about waiting..." she returned to their conversation, determined to get it all out in the open.

There was still some Gryffindor courage left in this wounded cub. She took a deep breath. "I think I will have to ask you to do just that. I don't know how or when I'll be able to..." here she lost her voice, but he wouldn't let her speak further even if she hadn't paused.

"I understand, believe me."

"I know. But it is unfair, it is so unfair to you..."

He let out a bitter laugh. "To me?"

"Yes you!" she answered with as much heart as he uttered his last bewilderment.

"Hermione, we need to stop right here and set some things clear. If we are in this together, there will be no passing of blame for the pace we choose in our relationship. I cannot deal with that, and neither can you, I suspect. There is really no need to do this to each other."

He was the voice of reason, of wisdom and utter understanding.

She wanted to weep.

"How can you be so sure?" Her voice was barely audible and he pulled her head just an inch closer, until their breaths mingled.

"I am sure, because I have never known such torment than in the last week." His words were soft, fragile, ever so fragile. "I am sure because I believe in you and I know you will recover, and I want to be the one to be with you while you do, that is if you want me to..."

"I want you to," she said, even though it wasn't necessary.

He held her face in his palms and she relaxed into his touch.

"And most of all, I am sure because each night you sleep by my side I feel like the luckiest bastard on Earth, only to be given this chance to be next to you."

She was tearing up. "You are right on one thing."

"Just one?" he asked, brushing her tears as they slid down her cheeks.

"They would never believe me you could say such things," she said softly.

She leaned fully into him, and he pulled her into his arms, their bodies melding into each other, the reason of their discussion not a presence at the moment.

"This feels good," she said, as her hands brushed down his sides.

"It does indeed," he replied, but felt compelled to warn her. "If you are not ready to feel me, we will have to part from this embrace soon," he added, and she smiled.

"How come I hadn't realized this 'reaction' before?"

Indeed it was a valid question and she repeated it, this time less playfully and with more genuine curiosity.

He fidgeted.

Severus Snape, spy extraordinaire, as she called him a moment ago in jest, fidgeted.

He was hoping he would be able to delay this part of the story a bit longer.

She sensed the tension in him instantly, but before she could once again jump to the wrong conclusion, he gritted through his teeth

"I took a potion."

She thought she hadn't heard him correctly.

"A potion?" she asked, pulling only barely away to find his eyes.

He looked thoroughly embarrassed.

"Please promise me to listen till I reach the end of my explanation," he begged softly, fearing her possible misinterpretation.

He really had no reason to worry. "I thought we already established a seriously high threshold of taking things in good faith with each other. So speak," she said, winding her arms across his back.

"Ever since you started coming to my bed, I have been taking a potion designed to," he cleared his throat "suppress any physical evidence of desire in a man".

There was a long silence as she went over the facts his simple explanation gave her, and there were quite a few.

"It prevents you becoming aroused?"

"Yes."

"Why did you... take it?"

Well, they were being honest, something he stipulated a while ago in his heartfelt speech about passing of blame and pacing their relationship.

"I took it because I am a man. In the beginning I could not trust my body, because my mind had only wanted to protect you then, give you comfort. Unfortunately, I could not control my sometimes quite random bodily reaction to the closeness of a beautiful woman. I could not risk frightening you, not after..." Another deep breath, in the name of honesty. "... not after what I knew they did to you, how they hurt you."

She listened, and remembering their earlier pact as well, chose the same approach.

She would ask the difficult questions.

"And when did it turn into," and here she could not help herself but to lace her tone with a note of disbelief "wanting me?"

He heard it, the tinge of irrationality, and he knew it wasn't deliberate, he knew it would take time to heal that part of her as well as the rest.

"I can't tell you for sure. I believe that when you didn't come needing my protection as much and started asking for comfort instead, I allowed myself to feel the desire. Hermione," he took her hands in his again "please try to understand why I did it. I never believed you would want me, and I am not sorry nor am I ashamed of taking the potion. I felt the desire burn me inside every night as you lay in my arms but I am not sorry for it. I could not risk it."

"You speak of desire, but you said you took the potion to... well, undo it."

He smiled softly, seeing how she wasn't resenting him for keeping this away from her. "Has my little know-it-all not been paying attention?"

She smiled.

"The potion did nothing for the desire. It just silenced the symptoms," he explained.

She was, yet again, speechless. How could she be angry at him? Did he really have to tell her of his actions? And to want and not be able to react, to not show what was inside of you, well, she concluded with sadness, at least at that he had some experience.

"And you did this to... make me feel safe?"

She knew he could hold back. She trusted him explicitly, from the first day, and she was feeling more and more at ease with this conversation.

"Yes."

"Feeling everything... inside?"

"Yes."

She met his eyes. "You are a great man Severus Snape. A truly great man."

He closed his eyes in relief.

She smiled. "You thought I would be upset?"

"Perhaps."

"I could not be upset. What you did... it was the right thing to do. I could not speak of it back then. I can barely find the words now, but I will, soon, and I just want you to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Promise that you will not take the potion again."

"But Hermione, you understand that..."

"I understand. And I am scared. I have horrible memories of other men. But I love you and I trust you. I want to feel your arousal, I want to know, I want to feel that you want me. And no, don't interrupt," she was the one to put a finger onto his lips now "I trust you. I believe you. But I need to feel it. I want to feel it. I think it will help me feel... like a woman. You see, I do not know what it's like to make a man want you, physically."

"What?"

He was... confused now.

"Before they took me into captivity," she wanted to be more precise, but felt, as it was with everything else, that it would be a slow and painful progress. "I had never been with a man."

Their eyes met and she could see the rage boil in his pools of onyx.

"You were a virgin?"

"Yes."

She bowed her head.

"Listen to me," he said softly, pushing her chin up with his palm. "I do not wish to repeat myself, but remember our pact, ok?"

She nodded.

"All right. I promise you," he spoke with such passion, such conviction, such love "that I shall do all that I know and all that you will be willing to teach me to remove the memory of their touch from your skin. When we do reach the point, do not doubt that it will be your first time, first real love making with a real man. Everything else does not matter."

"There is not a place on my body they haven't touched," she said now, shuddering, her voice shaking as she wrapped herself firmly around him once more.

"Then I will kiss you and caress you and make love to you until your body bears only the memory of my touch."

She wanted to laugh at his passionate conviction, so much like her own, in the times before it all was destroyed, but she could only cry. "Severus, I cannot be untouched."

"Can you not? But are you willing to allow me to try?" he asked, and she knew she would allow him anything he so strongly believed in. She trusted him with her life; she could trust him with her body.

"Yes, I am. How could I not be?" she said softly as she finally reached for his lips.

It was hungry, it was desperate, it was hopeful, as hands roamed and lips asked, took, demanded. There, in the safe haven of his embrace she gave him leave to go on his mission. She allowed him to pull her even closer, their tongues now remembering the intricate dance they once shared, in the caves, in the lake that saved their lives.

She had her hands in his hair, and his' were slipping up and down her back, easing her into him, luring her into the safety of the passion he promised with his every caress.

And when she felt him swell beneath the centre of her body, she flinched, but rooted her arms firmly around his neck, finding his eyes.

There was a promise said in the silence, a wordless exchange of trust and reassurance, and as they continued their warm kisses, the presence of him, of a man, so close to her, but so respectful of her boundaries, gave her just enough courage to stay in the embrace.

He saw it in her eyes, when they won their first battle against the demons of her past, and he swore in the silence of his soul that she would indeed live to feel only loving imprints on her skin.

He could not change her past; he could not obliviate the tragedy that loomed over her, the omnipresent shadow of shame and brokenness polluting the air around her. He could, and he would make sure to fight each and every bad memory with a new one, one they would create together, in the intimacy of their bedroom and their home, with tender words and the gentlest of hands.

He never felt such devotion for a woman. But then again, never had a woman given him so much of her trust, with so little proof beforehand.

He realized what it was that he felt around her, underneath all the passion, all the compassion, all the tenderness and longing.

He understood at that moment that she gave him perhaps the most wonderful gift of all, the one that became a ground stone for every progress they have made thus far.

Hermione Granger what the first and only woman in his life that made him feel safe.

And he knew he would devote the rest of his days to making sure she feels safe too.


	21. The afterlife

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you for reading! I cannot express my excitement at finally reaching this point in the story. I have been promising you for a long time that this would be a good fic, with good things happening, and although it will be a complicated journey, you may expect a lot less drama and a lot more really great relationship moments from now on.

Share your thoughts as the story progresses; I would love to hear your ideas. From this point on, I am creating the storyline as I go (until now I had a sketch). Your comments are always such a treat and I am humbled and thrilled to read each and every one of them!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

**Afterlife**

It would be almost tea time until they'd both find the energy to get dressed and join the Lupins.

Thanks to the venerable house elf they received sustenance without needing to leave the privacy of their room.

After the emotional confession they shared earlier the rest of the afternoon was spent in lazy slumber.

Despite her early morning claims, Hermione found herself quite drowsy after she had had her first real conscious meal in a week and a half.

She ate with great pleasure and appetite and Severus could not tear his eyes away from the sight.

In the privacy of their bedroom he was free to be and act unguarded, and his behaviour was much more relaxed than he would ever show in the presence of even his closest friends.

They enjoyed the sandwiches sitting in bed, their backs resting on the headboard and the sheet tossed on the floor, their legs lying casually across one another.

She fell asleep not long after, with the taste of pumpkin juice on her lips and a few crumbles trapped in the corner of her mouth.

He could taste the former as he leaned in to wipe away the latter with his own lips tasting of pumpkin juice.

Then he pulled her onto him, the need for proximity as strong on his side as it was on hers, and picked up his book from the night table.

An hour passed until she stirred from her nap.

She would be embarrassed, but the sight of a dozing Severus greeting her disposed of such nonsense straight away.

His chin was leaning on his chest, the thin framed glasses perched low on his nose and the book abandoned on the bed on his empty side.

He was reading a muggle novel, a Russian classic, and she was once again reminded of her initial surprise at his interest in such literature.

He woke a moment later, after she not so subtly stretched over him to access the book.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she said as he reached for her.

It was so easy, so comfortable to slide over him, to be so close to him, so normal that she didn't even realize it anymore.

"You didn't. I was just resting my eyes."

She chuckled. "Oh is that what it's called?"

He raised his eyebrow in a feeble attempt to act offended, but she just stretched further up and laid a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It didn't take long for it to deepen, and she sank into him, relaxing into the comforting muscles she had come to know so well.

The laziness of their kiss simply reminded them both again that they were in bed, relaxed and fed, and the complete absence of rush and tension was such a welcome sensation yet again as it was to all of their former intimate moments equally.

There would be no nightmares tonight.

The truth was said, completely and somewhat painfully, but it was all out in the open, laid out in front of them both, and they had nothing more to do now but to live their afterlife.

The life without the nightmares, at least the kind she, and he, were exposed to.

"What do we do next?" she asked a while later, still nestled into the crook of his neck, her hand resting idly over his heart.

He moved his palm over her back, and she relaxed into it. "I suppose we might join the others, they have shown remarkable subtlety and restraint by leaving us undisturbed for so long.

She smiled. "I guess asking for Kreacher was indication enough that we were all right."

"That and I sent Dora a patronus while you were sleeping," he added, trying to hide his grin.

"Making sure you have me all to yourself?" she teased him. It was so new, being so open, but so thrillingly enjoyable.

"Perhaps," he said, refusing to give a more distinctive answer.

Continuing in this fashion, it was no surprise then that it was almost tea time when they'd both found the energy to get dressed and join the Lupins.

Descending the stairs she took his hand in hers, letting him go slightly in front of her, the sensation of having his strong back as a barrier between her and the world feeling very welcome at the present moment.

He paused in front of the closed kitchen door, turning to her.

Her grip on him tightened.

"We can go back up if you are not feeling up to company," he said, understanding her fear.

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "No. I'm fine. Just..." she looked down at their joined hands, blushing, embarrassed at what she wanted to ask of him. It seemed so childish.

He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. "I won't let go," he said to her silent plea, and she leaned into his touch.

"Ok. Ok..." she murmured, relaxing, his hand having his desired effect on her.

The door squeaked as he pushed the knob down and in. The air was enriched with a soft aroma of bergamot and comfortable conversation filled the quaint kitchen.

Remus and Dora both turned towards them at the same time, their exchange put to a halt at the appearance of the couple.

Severus was grateful for the absence of the Potters and Weasleys. Not that he minded, but it would be easier on Hermione, on all of them, to ease her back amongst the living in a smaller and more familiar company.

It seemed that Hermione was of the similar frame of mind since she visibly relaxed at the sight of just the two of them.

"Hello," she said as Severus turned to close the door, all the time not letting her hand go.

"See Remus, I told you they were just canoodling and everything was all right," Dora said to her husband but her eyes were on Hermione. "It's good to see you up an about dear," she added at the obvious blush the younger woman had produced over her remark.

"It's good to be up and about," Hermione said as Severus led her into the room, and onto the small sofa facing the Lupins.

They both stood as they approached. "Please do not hold my humour against me," Dora said as she walked up to her. "Would it be all right to hug you dear? You gave us all such a fright," she said honestly and Hermione smiled, feeling Severus' hand slipping as she moved her hand away. She knew he was right behind her. He always was.

"You were right. We were canoodling," Hermione whispered into Dora's ear as they exchanged a friendly embrace.

Dora almost choked on her laughter, but it came out bright and shiny as ever. "So good to have you back my darling," she said as Hermione pulled away only to step into Remus' waiting arms.

This hug was of a more fatherly kind, making her welcome it all the more so. The blond man smiled softly when she returned his embrace. In the months during her recovery he had grown to love the girl very much, and considered her the next best thing to a grown daughter he would likely have for many years to come.

"Feeling all right?" Remus asked softly when they parted.

"I suppose so. It's," she glanced at Severus and he immediately stepped behind her, just a step, but it was all she needed. "different. Lighter."

"Perhaps some tea would be nice to accompany the talking?" Severus said, his arm wrapping around Hermione's waist.

Both Remus and Dora noticed the heightened level of intimacy between their friends, and the ease with which they showed it.

After they had settled into their respective places, Hermione taking her bunny mug, out of habit and comfort now rather than need, they both, Severus and Hermione, explained in whatever detail they deemed explicit enough the changes that happened to her since awakening.

"It is such good news to hear you are recovering so fast," Dora said with a smile.

Severus and Hermione exchanged a look and he frowned for a moment before capitulating under her warm gaze.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, Hermione would like me to say that, since we _are_ a couple, and she is feeling better, we would be sharing one room from now on," he squeezed from his lips.

Remus watched his friend with sympathy and the young woman at his side with a fair dose of respect. It took guts to win that staring contest.

"Yours or hers?" Dora asked, seemingly unperturbed at such open admission uttered from one Severus Snape, Slytherin and brooding housemate.

"His," Hermione said, deciding he was brave enough to start this conversation without much coaxing and deserved a reward. "After all, I have been there more than in the other room."

"I'll tell Kreacher to move your things," Dora said, but Hermione shook her head.

"No, we'll do it," she said and Severus nodded.

"After supper," he added, feeling slightly, even though only marginally, more comfortable talking about this. Talking about private matters never came easy, no matter how much they'd already shared. But they were among friends, helpful and respecting friends, and after a while he relaxed enough to seek her hand with his own again.

Both Remus and Dora had more than enough common sense not to comment on it.

"Where are the others?" Hermione asked. "I expected the house to be swarmed with people."

"I sent them home," Dora answered her. "I thought you would appreciate a lesser crowd today."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. I do. I mean, I wouldn't mind seeing them, only..." she paused.

"Not today," Remus added.

"Not today," she repeated as she moved a little bit more into Severus's side.

She asked about Teddy, and conversation about Teddy led to a conversation about their interrupted vacation.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said, and she already felt the coil of self-deprecation tighten inside of her, but then his hand was on her back and she took a deep breath.

"Darling," he murmured as she closed her eyes at his touch, fighting the wave of guilt. "Remember our deal," he said softly and she sighed.

"I am really sorry," she said, her voice still regretful but much steadier. "I hope at least the children enjoyed their time together," she said as Severus slid his hand around her shoulders and let it lay on the headrest of the sofa they shared.

"They have," Dora said. "And don't speak about being sorry again."

"I am trying," she said, looking at Severus again. "He helps."

"Oh, by the way, it seems that Teddy and Victoire are to be married," Remus added casually.

"What?" Hermione said in surprise.

"Something or other about Veela magic and recognition of compatible souls," Dora said, shaking her head. "I still can't fully grasp it, I mean they are children!"

Hermione smiled. "Well, at least they will have enough time to get to know each other. Did Fleur tell you about her and Bill?"

Dora looked at her, with the look women attained when sharing secret knowledge. "She did."

"Tell you what?" Remus asked.

"Oh, just how they met," Dora answered noncommittally, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "I'll tell you about it later."

Hermione chuckled, and at receiving the questioning eyebrow from Severus, she just let him know silently that he would be getting an explanation later on as well.

Sensual rituals of Veela and their soul partners were definitely not a tea time topic.

The evening came and went and before she knew it, Hermione stood in front of Severus's magically enhanced wardrobe observing all of her, sparse as they were, possessions tucked neatly into his wardrobe. Into his room. Into his life.

He walked up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. "Breathe," he whispered and she did as he advised, noting that it did help. "Remember, small steps."

"Yes," she said, leaning into him.

"Shall we?" he asked after a moment as she turned in his arms.

She nodded.

Her hand found his.

The bed was only a few steps away, but it was the walk of the brave.

And they would brave it. Together.


	22. It's a new dawn

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** First, let me apologize for the worst case of writer's block I EVER had! I am still not in the mood for writing, but after six weeks of having absolutely no idea where to go (ok I know where, but not the pace), I decided to just write.

So forgive me if this chapter seems a bit rough around the edges.

It is over 6000 words, so hopefully it is a small compensation for your wait.

Also, I am going against all ff warnings and posting this "hot off the griddle" as they say. I will go over it tomorrow for typos and such. Please forgive and if you're not too mad for my lack of update, comment. I read them all, sometimes repeatedly. It's an unpaid writer's drug.

Ok, I better stop fishing for comments.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<strong>

**It's a new dawn**

She slammed the door of the adjoining bathroom and leaned against the scratchy wood with a frustrated grunt.

On the other side of the door stood one slightly amused Severus Snape, and beyond the door separating their bedroom from the rest of the house a small crowd of Potters and Weasleys gathered in the short moments past.

It has been a month and a half since the masterful operation of liberating Hermione from the influence of the curse that kept her locked in her darkest hour, and it seemed that life was finally getting back to a semblance of normalcy when our heroine was concerned.

In the weeks following the described event, they, Severus and Hermione, had somewhat nervously but bravely faced the world and their closest friends as a couple.

A big surprise, at least to Hermione, was the level of ease with which everyone seemed to accept the unorthodox relationship, and an even bigger surprise was the total lack of judgment on the side of Molly and Arthur.

Even Ron was coming to his senses.

All in all, in the tight circle of people Hermione permitted close to her now, a harmony was found.

It was the result of that harmony and the close proximity of the birthday of one Theodore Lupin that resulted in their current predicament.

They were hosting, nay, being neck deep in a garden birthday party. Since Teddy's real birthday was a couple of weeks ago, when the family had a small dinner with the Bill and Fleur while Hermione was still recovering, the end of May finally brought about the ideal opportunity and situation for such a celebration.

The weather was sultry, and the afternoon heat didn't show signs of relenting even though the hour neared sunset.

"Darling, let me in," Severus called softly from the other side of the bathroom door. From outside he could hear Molly ushering everyone back downstairs with reassurances that 'Severus could handle it'.

He sincerely hoped so.

The lock clicked and he tried to stifle a smile starting to form on his face before resolutely and quite seriously entering the bathroom.

She sat on the toilet seat, head in hands, hiding her face, refusing to look up at him.

Even as he shut and warded the door behind him, sheltering them literally from the rest of the world, she did not move from her initial pose.

He knelt in front of her and gently removed her palms from her face, encouraging her to meet his eyes.

With a deep breath, she did.

"How bad is it?"

He tried to stay serious, he really did, but the corner of his lip tugged upwards and she dove right back into the shelter of her palms.

"I am going to murder them," she said in muffled tones.

"I hardly think such a crime is necessary here, although it is a colourful offence," he said.

"Don't you laugh Severus Snape! Don't you dare laugh!"

Even as she uttered the threat her voice betrayed her with a chuckle. Her shoulders shook with mirth and a moment later she looked up to see a matching smile on the face of her beloved.

"How bad is it?" she asked timidly and met his eyes with childlike worry.

Even though he ought to feel the need to strangle George Weasley for his actions that afternoon, he wanted to hug the young man for making Hermione worry about such a trivial thing as a rainbow prank. Anything that got her mind off of her real life worries brought on a welcome respite.

"Haven't you looked?" he asked, his eyes turning to the mirror up against the far wall.

"I did. I also saw that it was spreading."

"It is not bad. In fact, it is utterly wonderful," he said, a smile still on his face.

She wanted to kick him, but chose to roll her eyes instead. She still didn't rule out hitting him at a later moment, if he continued to wear that grin.

"This is not funny."

"It is." he replied calmly.

"Not to me."

He sighed. "Seriously? Not even a tiny bit?"

She rolled her eyes again. "I cannot believe they did that to me!"

"The workings of the minds of the Weasley twins would forever remain a mystery to me, but I have to admit that their desired effect is charming."

"You are walking a thin line of sleeping in the library," she said, but even as she uttered the words she realized it was a mock threat. She was getting worked up over nothing.

"Really?" he asked her with his signature raised eyebrow.

"No," she said softly. "So, how do I look?"

"Dashing," he said and erupted in a fit of laughter, a fit she joined in shortly after.

"You are of no help at all!" she exclaimed as she stood up and crossed the short distance to the mirror. "Good Lord, even my hair is affected!"

He came to stand behind her. "I have to admit that I like the purplish hue on you. It suits your complexion."

"It would suit my complexion if the rest of my head wasn't a rainbow!" she huffed and puffed in indignation, but when she met his eyes in the mirror, they shone with pure happiness.

"Don't tell me again that I am charming," she said seriously, but it lacked the usual sentiment in lieu of the rainbow colours dying her hair and skin as far as she could see in the mirror.

"You are adorable," he said as his arms sneaked around her waist.

She relaxed into his chest, into the familiar warmth and firmness of his body and closed her eyes for a moment.

She brushed his lips over her exposed neck, the loose strand of hair escaping her messy bun tickling his cheek as he leaned in.

She murmured her approval at his action and turned to face him.

Their eyes met and even though she was rainbow coloured, her eyes relayed a very clear message of a more grown up hue.

He took her yellow, green and blue face in his palms and pulled her to him, his lips finding accepting warmth in her tenderly opened mouth. Under the slow and sensual explorations of his kiss she soon forgot about her state of pigmentation and surrendered to the familiar and welcome sensations.

A soft sigh escaped her as he slowly ended the kiss. His palms moved down her arms, already showing discoloration, and as he pressed small kisses down her neck, he chanced a glance down her shirt. After all, it was a sight he was privy to.

"I believe this is a full body spell," he said after lifting his eyes back to hers. "It should wear off on its own in a few hours."

She grunted. "Can you do anything about it?"

He shook his head. "I can, but the brewing of the counter-potion would take the same amount of time as it will take for it to absorb into your system. There is really no point."

"I can stay here I guess," she said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

He cupped her face in his hands again. "And miss Teddy's party?" he voiced her thoughts. Although he himself was a firm opponent of social gatherings, the crowd currently mingling in the garden consisted of their closest friends and thus earned the title of 'quite agreeable if somewhat irritating'. Good enough to spare them a thought. "Surely this is not the first Weasley prank you were exposed to," he said softly, a smile on his face all this time.

His smile would be her undoing, she knew it. It was such an intimate gesture for him, something he so rarely showed to anyone beside her and, sometimes, Teddy, and she was equally mesmerised by the youthfulness his whole face took on with the barest tilting of his lips.

She leaned in and kissed him gently, shortly. "I suppose not. I was just surprised, although I should have been expecting it. It is Fred and George after all," she said, shaking her head and turning to look in the mirror once more.

Her palms were orange and her feet a tantalizing shade of fuchsia.

She giggled. "They are entertaining, one has to give them credit for that," she said as she let her hair loose and twisted it back into a fresh version of her messy bun.

"That they are," Severus said as he followed her out of the bathroom.

"I never thought I would hear a word of praise for Fred and George come out of your mouth," she said, her mood improving by the second.

"Strictly between us, they are the best of the lot," he said and she looked at him in genuine surprise.

He smiled. "My love, don't you know by now that even if I'm irritated with someone it doesn't necessarily mean I don't hold him or her in high esteem."

She returned the smile. "Still, it's funny to hear you praise those two."

"If I had a chance to shape their young minds under the patronage of my own house, we would be able to see far greater things in their future than a joke shop franchise."

"You still can, you know. Shape their minds," she said with a smile on her face that carried a far more intimate gentleness. "They would let you now more than ever."

"Because I am not the big bad villain anymore?"

She smiled more openly. "Because you love me. It's a big plus."

He leaned in and kissed her once more, a short kiss. "I wholeheartedly agree."

She ran her palm softly down his cheek, marvelling at sight of his gentle side. It was hers and hers only to observe, and she would never tire of it.

She opened the door of their bedroom to come face to face with two identical kneeling figures with rainbow coloured faces looking remorseful and ridiculous at the same time.

"Forgive us, we beg you," they chanted in unison, their hands clasped in the air in front of them. One set was turquoise and other aquamarine.

She watched Fred and George, obviously under the influence of the same potion they laced her drink with, and burst into laughter, accompanied by Severus's amused grin.

"Kneeling down, I see," he said as she doubled over holding onto him. "Good thinking," he said as her laughter subsided somewhat.

George noded. "One can never be too careful with that one," he said.

"Do you forgive our foolish and dim-witted selves?" Fred asked her again.

They stood up and she hugged them happily. "You are crazy idiots but I love you to death," she mumbled into their shoulders.

She stepped back and swatted each with one palm over their wonderfully green hair. "Don't ever do a thing like that again!"

"Ow!"

"Yes Mum!"

"Do you let her swat you on the head like that?" Fred dared to ask Severus.

Severus raised an eyebrow for a moment, the smile that lingered on his face a moment ago now transformed into his patent serious look.

"I don't give her reason to," he answered, earning a deep bow from the twin menaces. Soon the four of them walked back down the stairs, joining the group that was again as eager as ever to join in to good humour.

It was a fun afternoon, filled with love, joy and laughter, and anyone observing the young woman and her slightly more mature partner would never guess how rocky their road had been and indeed still was.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, as the crowd dissipated to their respective homes and the potion wore mostly off, she climbed into bed next to Severus wearing her peach coloured nightie, an adorable knee length piece that was wide enough not to be perceived as a seductive garment and revealing enough to keep her cool in the fast approaching summer nights.<p>

To Severus, she could have worn a ski suit. He was in limbo.

After they agreed on taking their relationship slowly but steadily to a higher sensual level, Hermione quite firmly, although delightfully blushing, asked of him not to wear his shirt to bed.

She marvelled at the warmth of his skin, and even now, six weeks later, she still indulged in careful exploration of the open and inviting chest she slept on.

Her own contribution to their bedtime attire was a conscious choice of more comfortable yet feminine clothes.

She was aware that, when it came to her nakedness, he had seen far more of her than she of him, but the instances when it had occurred were far from sensual and positive.

After her initial realization that Severus had bathed her during her illness without magic, she was mortified, blushing and unable to look at him, not to mention sleep with him.

It was the one of the first moments that Severus realized how much he was able to help her turn her mind around to a better place.

_She opened her lingerie drawer in search of a nightgown more appropriate to the unusually hot April weather._

_Absentminded as she had been at the moment it took her a second to realize she had not opened hers but his drawer and was currently observing a neatly folded row of pyjama bottoms, varying from midnight blue, through grey to the ever present black._

_She smiled softly as she closed the drawer in question and pulled open the one above, indeed finding her selection of nightgowns there._

_She had never really realized it before, but they were all neatly folded and put in a row reminiscent of the one in his drawer, the only difference being a slightly advanced selection of colours. _

_So neatly folded that she hadn't remembered doing it herself. _

_The evening they moved her clothes from her room to Severus', and officially chose to share a bed (albeit quite the formality by then), she took care to put all her clothes where she wanted them, by hand, naturally, since she could not use her wand anymore._

_Now, looking at her nightclothes, she wondered how she hadn't realized it sooner. _

_Her pyjamas, nightgowns and underwear were neatly folded and organized. By magic._

_This let her to think of the obvious person to have placed a permanent charm on her drawer and the reasons why he would do such a thing._

_Thoughts ran through her mind, but before she could make anything of it, Severus knocked and entered a moment later._

_He developed a habit of knocking after he almost walked in on her while changing for bed. Her reaction was, predictably, not relaxed._

_They had good and not so good moments, but talking about them did help._

_This evening he hadn't noticed at first her pensive expression as he rubbed his hand over his face. _

_Observing her wrapped in her bathrobe, he walked straight to the bathroom, mentioning potion fumes and the feeling of being 'disgusted with one self's state'._

_She heard the shower running and sighed, resigning herself to ask him about the drawer when he came to bed that evening, and in the meantime, reassured by the sound of the shower running, she slipped the bathrobe off her shoulders and put a sleeveless burgundy nightgown on. It was made of very light cotton and perfect for the evening's unrelenting heat._

_When he returned to the bedroom, hair still slightly damp despite of the obvious drying spell it encountered earlier, her eyes drifted over his chest to the black curtain of hair resting gently on his shoulders down to his pyjama bottoms. Tonight, they were grey and sat on his hips in a manner that was as much relaxed as it was enticing._

_She smiled putting her book down. "So you are letting it grow out," she said with an approving look when her eyes drifted back to his hair._

_He was well aware of her complete appraisal of his physique, something that made him uncomfortable at first, but less and less as the days went on._

_He ran his fingers through his hair, pleased that she liked it. "It is the time of month when I usually trim it, but I decided to grant you your wish," he said softly, and only one knowing how rarely this man changed his ways understood the weight of his words._

"_Come," she said and pulled the covers of his side of the bed down._

_He indeed joined her moment later, marvelling at the sight of this beautiful young woman welcoming him into her arms._

_She always slept on his right side, and often her fingers would wander away from his chest to the sensitive skin of his left forearm and the fading tattoo that once represented such evil._

_Now it was just a fading mark, and she was getting more and more relaxed about its presence._

_She remembered her earlier puzzlement._

"_Severus, why is there a permanent organization charm on my lingerie drawer?"_

_He took in a deep breath as he answered her calmly. "I put it there, as well as on all my drawers. It was easier that way."_

_She mulled over his words. There was still something that didn't fit the puzzle. "I guess you're right. I was wondering when you have put it there. Not that I mind," she added in an attempt to lighten up. The fact was, she was far from relaxed. She didn't remember moving her nightclothes into that drawer because they were already there. And she understood, more than knew, why they were there. She was, after all, unconscious for ten days._

_He sighed. "That is not what you're asking."_

_She moved a bit up in bed to be able to look at him more comfortably. The night lamp cast a soft golden glow on his face as he too moved slightly up and towards her._

"_No it isn't," she answered him finally. _

"_I put the charm on the drawer while you were..." his voice faded, a momentary weakness he would show in front of no one else._

_She took his hand in hers and interlaced their fingers._

"_While you were fighting the curse," he finished his sentence. _

"_You know..." she started, trying to find the right words to say the hard thoughts "... I do realize that sometimes I wake up in a different nightgown. After a hard night..." she trailed off, but composed herself and found his eyes. "Thank you for taking such good care of me. I guess it's no wonder you have the drawer with my nightclothes charmed to arrange themselves."_

_He lifted his other hand to caress her cheek. If she would speak the hard words, so would he. "You are different now, when you sleep. Before we lifted the curse," he paused just a fraction, but enough for her to notice the pained look in his eyes "the nightmares left you in quite a state. I..." again he placed his palm on her cheek but this time kept it there "I couldn't let you be uncomfortable when all it took was a few Divesto's and an Accio charm towards that drawer._

_She moved into his arms and he wrapped them around her protectively._

"_I guess you used that a lot during those ten days I was unconscious," she said, not really as a question._

_His voice thus came as a surprise._

"_Not quite," he said, his voice soft and somewhat strained with a note of... was it apology?_

"_What do you mean?" she asked, again lifting up to look at him, eyes calm, only curious._

_He couldn't really say that he wasn't expecting this moment. She was extremely careful of showing minimal skin ever since they rescued her, a trait they had recognized as her defence reaction to her violation and started to work on in their private moments. _

_She was at the moment wearing quite a revealing nightgown, her arms bare, and it was the first time he had seen her so lightly dressed. Even when he was the one dressing her, he chose a more covering ensemble, for her comfort, naturally. _

"_I have told you that we couldn't use magic on you," he said softly, and there is was again, the apologetic tone in his voice. "It was hurting you, whenever a wand was waved."_

"_Yes you told me, but surely you didn't mean simple spells..." there was a note of panic in her voice now, slight, but there, as her thoughts were quickly coming up with the alternate scenario._

_His eyes bore into hers, realizing what she was asking. And he would be man enough and own up to it. It was, after all, his decision to ban the use of magic around her._

"_No magic was used on you after the diagnostic spells that were cast when I brought you back here until we were ready to cast the counter-curse."_

_His voice was calm, resigned now, and had lost the apologetic tone._

"_But how did I...?"_

"_You were sometimes sentient enough to eat, that much I told you already," he said and she nodded, fighting the urge to get out of bed and move to the far end of the room._

_It was not his revelation that caused the urge; it was that omnipresent feeling that she had to hide herself._

"_Sometimes," she repeated his word. "And other times?"_

_He took a deep breath and she could see that it pained him to retell it. _

"_Severus, please," she said softly, squeezing his hand that he almost forgot still lay in her command "I need to know."_

_His eyes found hers. "Other times I fed you. We would eat together, here at the small table."_

"_And after my nightmares, that you told me I had, how did you...?"_

_He closed his eyes at the obvious memory. _

_She hated herself in that moment, wishing she hadn't started this conversation. By now, she should know better than to assume anything they discussed could stay in the realm of trivial._

_But his words, they still came with a measure of surprise._

"_I bathed you," he said, opening his eyes and piercing her with his gaze._

_She stopped breathing._

_If he had done that, than... _

_She let go of his hand and pushed the covers further up her body._

_He saw her reaction and his eyes filled with sadness. He knew she was not afraid of him, but he also knew, had learned to recognize, the moments when something would occur, or someone would utter a phrase that made her eyes glass over and pull her back into her memories._

_He knew those memories. So often he was the unwilling witness to her nightmares and screams._

_Her voice pulled him back to her._

"_You... bathed me?" she asked, her voice shaky._

"_Yes," he answered, his reaction schooled into utmost calmness. He could see the fear on her face even as she tried to fight it._

"_So, you have... seen me?" She stumbled on her words. "Without... clothes?"_

"_Yes," was again, his only response._

_She cowered more, pushing the duvet under her chin and bringing her knees up, her eyes falling on a distant spot at the floor near the fireplace._

_A deep blush washed over her skin the next moment and a profound shame overwhelmed her, a wave that he could feel even if he could not see her._

_She knew he saw her naked when they rescued her, but it was a fact that didn't bring up such a feeling of embarrassment. After all, in that moment, her state of undress was hardly an issue._

_But now... she wanted to get out, get away from him, from everyone. He looked at her, he had seen her, had watched her, his hands, his eyes... on her..._

_She was spiralling down, and fast, so Severus acted on pure instinct._

_Risking frightening her even more he jumped out from under the covers and moved to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his firmly, forcing her to stay in the present, stay with him._

"_Look at me."_

_She did. Who would not?_

_Her eyes were an amalgam of fear and shame, her skin highlighting the latter and the tremor of her hands the former._

"_Yes, I have seen you, your body, the whole of you. I tended to you as you would, I have no doubt, tend to me if I were the one in need of care..." _

_His voice was soft but his words burned with devotion. She could not but listen to him, especially with the figure he depicted, kneeling in front of her, his hair falling at the sides of his face, his bare chest reflecting the slightest hint of the pale moonlight._

_It was Severus. Her Severus._

_And he was talking, all the time, his words fighting to reach her mind._

_She managed to lock her eyes onto his and his velvety voice poured into her. She didn't notice the desperate note his soft words took on as he kept talking without getting a reaction from her._

"_I love you, and I took care of you. I would not let anyone else touch you. Hermione..."_

_Finally, and with great effort, she lifted her hand to his lips and as it touched the tender skin, her eyes closed in relief._

_He was here._

"_Severus," she whispered and he had her in his arms, kneeling in the middle of the bed in front of him._

_His arms wound tightly around her and she reciprocated as her breath slowly calmed while she tucked her face safely under his chin._

"_Shhhh my love, it's ok," he comforted her as he caressed her back softly._

_It was in that moment that he realized he could indeed help her, really help her. If he could talk her out of falling into a flashback, then he would talk until his breath betrayed him._

_She moved away just barely, enough to meet his eyes. _

"_I slipped in," she said, and she didn't need to explain further._

"_I caught you," he answered, and it would be so incredibly shallow if it weren't true. _

_They moved back into their previous places under the cover, and as she sighed a warm breath that fluttered over his skin, he continued to stroke her back._

_It always helped her._

"_So..." she started without actually having something to say. The silence was still somewhat uncomfortable to her._

"_Hermione, don't," he said softly, whispering into her hair. Somehow they both felt that they could say the words more easily at that particular moment without the sometimes small benefits of eye contact._

"_I can't stop thinking how you've seen me, touched me..." she said, her voice small, frail sounding._

_It made his heart bleed._

"_My darling, I promise you that my only concern then was to make you feel relaxed and comfortable."_

"_I know, and that is what is so difficult to grasp... you did that, for me..." again her voice left her, and she just tried to breathe and leaned into his hand, still present at her back._

_After a moment she continued. "I don't know how you can..."_

_Another long moment passed and when she didn't continue, he urged her by repeating her last words._

"_How I can... what?"_

"_I know that you say it, that you mean it when you say it, that you want me, but I don't understand how you are so... accepting of... me," she finally managed to utter._

"_It's simple," he said, his hand never stopping its movement. This was not the first time they had a variation of the conversation of wanting her, as it was a common trail of thought when she was recovering from a bad reaction._

"_Simple?" she asked._

"_Yes. Simple. To me, you are infinitely attractive. I every way. And even though I had not looked at your body at that time with any sentiment other than love and care, I cannot deny that to me you are the most beautiful and most attractive woman I have ever seen."_

_She said nothing for a long time, but moved her hand to his torso to complement the movements of his hand still on her back._

"_You are just saying that because you love me," she said into his chest._

_He smiled. "But of course. Although, me loving you doesn't make it any less of a general truth."_

"_I am not beautiful," she said._

"_I beg to differ," he answered her resolutely, with a hint of tease. He was so pleased that the conversation travelled from its previous gloom to a lighter tone._

"_I am not. My hair is a mess."_

"_I adore your hair."_

"_You are biased," she said, chuckling._

_He thanked the Gods for hearing that sound. "Indeed I am," he said and moved her on her back as he hovered over her. "I am as biased as they make us."_

"_I love you," she said softly as she wound her hands in his longer hair. _

_When she pulled his to her he didn't hesitate and let her control the kiss, only moving her atop of him as the pressure of holding his weight because too much for his hands._

_And when his hands drifted over her bare arms, when his lips followed the path and she found herself splayed over the bed with his showering kisses on every uncovered inch of her skin, making her shudder with a more welcoming sensation, she closed her eyes and surrendered to her love._

_She was safe with him._

Now, as she moved slowly but resolutely close to her wizard, she craved his skin, she wanted his touch and she was no ashamed to admit it.

He had taught her that that night, and the night after that, encouraging her, never pushing her and more than anything else, showing her in no uncertain terms how much he craved her in any state of undress.

No, they were still a far cry from being lovers, but the level of intimacy they reached in such a short time made them both hopeful to reach the moment soon, although they still held those hopes to themselves.

"I have to admit that I kind of miss the green and purple highlights in your hair," he said in good humour as she settled into his inviting arms.

She took a deep breath, his scent filling her lungs before she'd laid her head contentedly onto her regular spot beneath his chin.

"I don't," she said, but there was no denying that after the initial fury the prank had made for a lot of good humour and funny relaxing moments.

"It was wonderful to see you relax so much," he said, whispered almost, into her back again chestnut curls.

A warm breath slowly warmed his nude skin, and it seemed for a moment to be her only comment, until she added "I did relax. It felt good," she said, and only he could sense the thinness of her voice and decipher it for what it was.

His arms closed around her more firmly and she relaxed, moulding into his protective embrace.

"I am proud of you," he whispered and placed a soft kiss into her hair. "So proud of you," he repeated and followed it with another kiss, this one closer to the top of her head.

His kisses drifted lower, and when she obviously welcomed it, he laid her under him, moving to properly worship the softness of her neck and shoulder.

Her hands led him, guided him, her fingers, as always, tangled in his hair. She loved his hair, the silky darkness that felt like the tenderest of loving whispers.

The weight of his body as it covered hers didn't feel wrong anymore. She knew that weight, knew the way his belly pressed against hers, knew the feel of his thighs as they brushed up against hers. She knew and understood the tension in his lower back as her fingers brushed up against it, and loved and respected him even more every time he pulled back from her when his body started to burn for something she wasn't yet ready to experience.

Yet.

She felt it in her bones, in her muscles, in the way her body relaxed every time he covered her with his'.

Love. Acceptance. Want.

It was a new dawn indeed.


	23. Prometheus

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here, I a faithful subject; I'm here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** So... yes. Well... that block I mentioned over three months ago? Yup. I had a choice to continue pushing out chapters that would most probably not be at the level of the previous ones, or wait and plan.

I am sorry for the long wait. I believe it was for the best. I come back to you, my faithful readers, with a bowed head and hope that you continue with me on this journey.

The last chapter of the story is finished and polished. I just have to get there. With your support I have no doubt I'll make it.

Love, Anette

p.s. Please excuse the errors. This will be edited soon enough.

**Update:** Big thanks to my Beta dancesabove for polishing this up!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22<strong>

**Prometheus**

She stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom and carefully braided her hair. It had lost some of its original thickness and a silver shine had started to descend upon it, but she wore it like that with pride, never using a glamour. She especially loved this Indiana Jones look, the adventurer vibe her Muggle outfit provided, but she was informed enough to know she had to tone it down lest she seem to imitate a truly outdated movie character.

For the occasion she donned a pair of Lovat tweed trousers that hugged her hips comfortably, but at the same time left her with enough room in the cut so that a woman of her age could feel comfortable. She paired it with a simple ivory pullover, thin enough for the still quite warm weather, but densely pleated to fall graciously down her slim frame. As her fingers reached the end of her braid, she secured it with a simple hair elastic and moved it over her shoulder.

The braid slipped back over her collarbone as she shrugged into her Burberry raincoat.

The weather in Muggle London was warmer than expected, but one could always rely on its unreliability, thus justifying the presence of a coat. The truth behind the deceivingly simple but in fact quite elaborate choice of clothing was just this:

When Minerva dressed Muggle, she dressed to the nines.

She had not seen Hermione and Severus for the duration of the summer holidays. They'd chosen to remove themselves from London and enjoy a prolonged visit with the young Weasleys of Shell Cottage. As much as she loved the atmosphere in the once-so-trusted safe house of the Order of the Phoenix, she did not have the heart to impose her mature tempo on the young ones.

They were all children of her heart: Bill and Hermione her Gryffindor cubs, and Severus the most important of them all, the son that filled the void left by the one she had lost. With Fleur she… managed, but their temperaments were simply too far apart for them to share real understanding and deep friendship. She respected the young Mrs Weasley's' exuberance and the graceful way she faced hardship in her life and marriage, and wished her well, hoping that with time they might further deepen their acquaintance.

Minerva had to admit that the return of Severus and Hermione to London gave her much to look forward to.

With one last look in the mirror, she took her wand and cast a disillusionment charm on herself. She didn't feel like explaining her appearance to the students or staff she would almost invariably encounter on her trek to the gates.

Yes, she _could_ apparate directly from her office, but where would be the fun in that? When disillusioned, she could frighten Sir Nicholas. It was a game of theirs, for he was the only one (other than the portraits in her office) privy to her enjoyment of Muggle clothing, having seen her once before on a similar trek leading to a similar goal.

She smiled as she walked down the hall. Sir Nicolas was a big fan of modern-day Muggle clothes, as he was perpetually lamenting the permanent style of his own attire.

She did not encounter him this morning, and soon had reached the gates. It was a crisp but sunny day and she was looking forward to spending it amidst London's hustle and bustle.

With a twirl and a pop she arrived at Grimmauld.

* * *

><p>His arms wrapped around her waist and he let his chin rest on her shoulder, their cheeks touching tenderly. It had become an expected and welcome gesture on his part, and she accepted it with great ease.<p>

The quiet permeated the still vastly dormant neighbourhood, and the tender rays of early morning sun had just begun their descent on the hidden house and its occupants.

"You are up early," he said softly, his voice heavy with sleep.

She let out a breath and leaned into him. "I couldn't sleep. It's London..." she trailed off, unsure of her own thoughts.

"... and its myriad of sounds that never quiet down, even in this house," he finished her thought.

"Exactly," she said, silently continuing with a brief thanks that it was not her darker memories that had brought on the earlier awakening.

They had visited with the Weasleys for a whole month. The hours and days spent in the pleasant company of friends, especially the time Hermione shared with Fleur, brought on a vast improvement of her spirits. She had a confidante, and even though Severus never learned nor wished to know the details of their conversations, he knew from the manner in which she moved, from the ease with which she accepted and initiated their moments of closeness, that it was benefitting her greatly.

Even now, standing in their familiar embrace while observing the lonely street, the change was instantly recognizable. His hands rubbed gentle circles into her sides, unconsciously wishing to warm her, for the nights and early mornings had a tinge of autumn crispness in them as of recently.

And warm her he did, for she welcomed the energy of his body seeping onto her skin through the thin barrier of her nightgown.

He leaned in to brush a tender kiss under her earlobe. His hair, grown longer during the summer, fell onto her collarbone, tickling her.

A chuckle escaped her and he tensed, forever mindful of possible ridicule. Severus Snape was not a tender lover type of man, at least not in his own eyes. He lacked the confidence and experience a man of his age usually had, and this subtle shift in him always happened when he was unsure of her reaction. His heightened awareness didn't go unnoticed by the woman in his arms, and she reached gently behind her, pulling his head to the place he sought, entwining her fingers into the raven-coloured strands.

His lips caressed her again, ever soft, ever respectful, and she closed her eyes, her other arm reaching up and behind her until it rested on his neck.

In a moment of bold abandonment of her initial caution she let her fingernails drag slowly over the base of his scalp.

His moan, so deep and close to her ear, reverberated deep within her, and a moment later she had turned and pressed her open mouth to his willing counterpart.

They were discovering each other with every new day and night, when moments like these were granted to them.

The brush of the soft fabric of her night-clothes seemed cruel over the firm peaks of her breasts when he pulled her into his arms.

She moaned her protest, lost in the warm dance of their embrace.

The moment grew faster than most times. Perhaps it was the sensual presence of her fingernails as she returned her hand to continue the teasing scratching at the base of his neck. Perhaps it was the feel of her thighs pressing into his, the muscles stronger than before.

Severus didn't bother with such ponderings, his arms full of the woman he didn't wish ever to be parted from.

He revelled in the feel of her stronger frame, the way her skin emanated a healthy warmth as her body inched further into him, her knee sliding up his thigh as her balance shifted until he found himself supporting her weight.

Breathless, they parted for air, their eyes shining in surprised excitement.

Every new moment of passion was indeed, _new._

A moment of shyness overcame her, and she shifted her gaze to his Adam's apple. Her eyes followed its movement very engagingly as it bobbed in Severus's futile attempt to swallow his desire down.

"Come to bed," he rasped, intent clear in his voice. Even if he'd stayed silent, his eyes, the eyes that burned with an onyx fire, would have relayed the message clearly.

It had been happening slowly, but she had been feeling that same burn for him for months now.

He taught her that it was all right to bask in the warmth of such fire. He never presumed the longevity of the flame nor took it for granted, but neither did she.

With a gentle but firm hand he led her back to their rumpled sheets, and she climbed in before him, pushing back into the plush pillows and opening her arms for him.

He let his touch wander up from her thigh to her collarbone, teasing her hip and stomach with his slightly trembling hand.

It was not the first time she had permitted, invited him to her in such an open way, but the moment of acceptance was still far from usual. Less would be enough to provoke the tremor in his muscles as well as within his soul.

They would reach a point, as they inevitably had, where she would clutch onto him and bury her head into his chest, and no words of explanation would be needed.

It had taken time, but he had convinced her that in those moments, he wished her to turn _into_ him rather than away from him. He would hold her, calming his body with deep breaths and her own with tender caresses.

But not yet.

When his fingers covered her heart, he found the courage to claim her mouth once more, and she opened it willingly, lovingly. The excitement still filled her as it would a girl just discovering the intricacies of this age-old seduction dance - for a girl in this regard she was, blissfully having been spared the loss of this experience along with the others she lost during her dark times.

Her tongue grew bolder as her fingers at his neck continued to gently draw patterns on his skin.

Her name slipped from his lips in a moment of separation, and then he was back with her, leaning into her when her other hand landed on the small of his back.

He'd wanted to feel her skin on his, but it was a step they had not yet taken, although his fingers did discover the delicate ridges of her nipples one afternoon in the cave lake. She let him touch her then, and he granted himself the freedom to be bold with her.

Some matters were much easier to do and say while immersed in the caring and curing waters of the magical lake.

He found satisfaction in brushing the expanse of nude skin stretched over her collarbone, first with his fingers, and then with his lips. So comfortable was he there, and she with having him there, that soon she found herself raising her arms above her head and sighing softly while he peppered kisses upon and explored her neck, then shoulders. He even dared to dip into the valley of her breasts, but only just.

"So exquisite," he murmured over her skin, his every word bringing to her a gush of tingles. "My love, my darling," he kept repeating, and it lit her soul as much as it turned her insides aflame.

She voiced her desires, as timid as they were, and he responded to them, gently and patiently complementing her thoughts. He found that he was in no hurry to take more from her, for each time they shared something unique.

The naked truth, one that he let himself admit when she was not there to see it in his eyes, was that he was as cautious and terrified of rushing into anything as she was.

But with his head between her breasts and his hands on her hips, he could not be bothered to complain.

When her hands cupped his face and pulled him back to her lips, he did not resist but went willingly, a pupil as much as she was, for he had not loved but once, and never in such a way.

With her hands roaming the expanse of his back and dipping to pull him closer into her, they had reached a moment of surrender previously unclaimed. His body covered hers, and even though she felt his weight, she welcomed it, discovering a deep pleasure and desire to feel him closer. The embrace itself would not differ much from the one she would succumb to in the moment of her imminent pain.

It was the intent that made a difference for them, and the intent grew stronger and stronger with each stolen moment of intimacy.

But in a moment when both were relaxed enough, each time when the flames threatened to erase another moment of her suffering, the evil ghost of times past would extinguish their desire with one firm stroke.

It always came in a flash, and her body would strain away from him in an unconscious spasm, her stomach arching into him but pushing her apart from their tender connection.

The pain in his gut only grew worse with each time it happened, this time being the newest and thus the worst.

He supported her back, one of his palms landing swiftly at the centre of it while the other supported her head.

He knew she was having a vision of one of her attacks, but her legs were thankfully still. He rode it out with her, riding his own pain at the cruelty of the spoil, and then feeding his rage with the parts of his spirit that broke off. The rage sustained his vow to avenge, and his revenge would be to see her arching her back in his arms in complete abandonment; not because of this abhorrent memory, but pleasure, as pure as celestial energy and as worldly and carnal as the bodies they inhabited.

As the rigidness of her muscles ebbed, the legs of a broken puppet yet again connected with the mind of its mistress. In those moments she opened her body to him completely, her legs wrapping high around his thighs as he brought her torso back into the safety of his arms.

She clung to him then, their bodies pressed firmly into each other, seeking comfort, release from agony, and a glimmer of hope that this might be the last time.

He mirrored her movements, his head resting on her shoulder much as hers did on his. Such was the moment that one could flee or accept, and he accepted their fate as much as he vowed to speed up the voyage down this road they travelled.

The morning was as still as before, with only their ragged breaths breaking the silence occasionally.

He lay on his back with her resting upon him now; her muscles, her beautiful muscles once again restored during the past months, now not much more than a dead weight on him.

She was barely able to speak or move, but he continued to coax her to relax more, in hopes that she might fall asleep. It was always best if she could do, as somehow it helped them with going back to their normalcy if they were granted this small moment of repose.

In another hour their day would start. Minerva was arriving to spend a day with Hermione in Muggle London, and Severus had important things to attend to.

It was bound to be a regular mid-week day, and no one would ever be the wiser as to the turmoil these two souls faced each time they sought one another.

And so, with her knees pressing his hips as if her exhaustion were a result of passionate abandonment, she finally and gracefully succumbed to sleep. Then, and only then, he moved her from such a compromising position. Now with her straddling only his one thigh, and still in full contact with him, he allowed himself to give in to the same weariness; to share the light sleep with her.

* * *

><p>"My dear boy, what on earth detained you for so long? I've been standing on this doorstep for almost five minutes!" Minerva exclaimed in mock offence as she examined Severus's sleepy stature.<p>

"Good morning to you, too," he grumbled, not even trying to pretend she hadn't just woken him up.

"Yes, yes, a fabulous morning," she nattered as she took a turn about the Grimmauld living room. "I presume dear Dora and Remus are working?"

"You presume correctly, and Theodore is still away accompanying his grandmother on her visit to Ireland," he said before she could ask. "Minerva, you do realize you weren't supposed to be here for another good two hours?" He said it casually, knowing full well that she was simply too eager to see them, just as they were to see her.

"Severus," she said, turning to face him, her eyes carrying a bright warmth reserved for him and him only.

He sighed and walked to her, hugging her tenderly.

"Now, _that's_ a proper welcome, I say!" she proclaimed, as she brought her hand up to cup his cheek. "You look well, my boy," she added. "More rested and relaxed than I've seen you in ages."

"I have to admit that I hardly remember a time when I've had less on my mind," he said honestly.

With Hermione still asleep, and no one to witness their exchange, he motioned for her to take a seat in the comfortable armchair closest to the fireplace while he joined her on the opposite side.

"Tea?" he asked, making a flourish with his hand in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Naturally. I did skip my breakfast only to share this one with you," she said, her eyebrow raised in a way that would be recognizable to his own acquaintances.

"Awfully sure of yourself as usual, I see," he continued with their gentle barbing.

She laughed openly and warmly, her head leaning back slightly as her eyelashes fell to meet the raising of her regal cheekbones.

The crows' feet around her eyes deepened as the welcoming sound floated around them.

She was so beautiful.

"My boy, I do believe I had earned the right to rouse you from your sleep and harangue you to share your breakfast with me, long before it was prudent to mention it publically."

He lowered his head in a short bow. "That you had."

"Enough with the small talk. I want Earl Grey and some crumpets, and I want to know how you really are."

He smiled. "May I magic it up, or do you wish your crumpets made Muggle-style?"

"Severus, some things are not improved by magic," she answered seriously, earning a chuckle in response.

She followed him to the kitchen and went about preparing their tea while he whisked up some batter and made the crumpets on the skillet. He liked them done the old-fashioned way, and enjoyed them for breakfast often, courtesy of Minerva, who had divulged her secret recipe to him years ago.

Levitating their plates and tea, they returned to the living room.

"So?" she asked, after a sip of her tea.

"We are fine, really."

"I just want to be prepared. She is still sleeping?"

"I would imagine so. Normally she would have come down already. Not a lot stands between that woman and her breakfast nowadays," he said, tenderness coating the words.

"Well thank the Gods for that! She was skin and bones," Minerva declared, and he just nodded.

"The month at Shell Cottage did her a world of good," he explained. "Both of us," Severus added a moment later, in a more hushed tone.

She chose to remain silent at that particular instant, knowing how much it cost him to even speak of himself in such private matters.

After finishing his last crumpet and filling their cups a third time, he leaned back and simply allowed himself a moment to relax and let the warmth of the porcelain cup seep into his hands.

"It's comfortable when it's just the two of us," he said at last. "Not that I dislike sharing the house with the Lupins," he added.

"But it's more comfortable being alone together, isn't it?" she said with a soft smile. She remembered a time when she, too, was happy to be together alone with someone.

"We have been for the better part of our days since our return, and it's been a novel experience, a comfortable one."

She waited.

"I wonder if..." he trailed, off, gazing into the quiet fireplace.

In very rare occurrences had she seen him so unsure as to stop mid-sentence.

"You wonder…?" she encouraged him to continue.

"I would never suggest Spinner's End; God only knows how much I abhor the place, but somewhere unburdened perhaps..."

He was talking to himself.

"Severus, do you want to ask her to live together?"

His eyes met hers, the eyes of a son seeking true advice from his mother, asking more for reassurance than for actual guidance.

"We already live together," he said, a faint smile attempting to cover up his nervousness.

She saw right through him. Of course she did.

But she didn't have the heart to tease him about it. There would come a time when she would bring it up, but for now she let it rest. He would never agree with her assessment that he was at his most charming when carrying his heart on his sleeve, but her opinions rarely wavered.

"You know, there is a charming little cottage in the third village from Hogsmeade. I happen to know the late owner's son. Nice family, but old Frank has no real need for it, and at his age of one hundred and seven, he would be happy to part with it now that his mother has departed the earth."

"Hmmm..." came his reply. "I think I know that family. And the cottage," he murmured, knowingly allowing himself to be lured into a conversation in which he was bound to spill every little detail that burdened his mind. It had never been any other way between them.

"Would she welcome the suggestion?" Minerva asked tentatively.

"I believe so, but..." Again his eyes met hers. "However, were someone to tentatively explore the possibility, it would be of great help in answering that question."

She laughed. "And I suspect that I have just been appointed to that mission?"

He smirked. "You practically volunteered."

She put her teacup on the end table and shook her head, a big smile adorning her face. "My boy, you two really deserve each other. I have witnessed her use of the same rhetoric on Potter and Weasley many a time to do her bidding," she said teasingly.

"I do not believe it. She's never exhibited Slytherin qualities in my presence."

"Oh_, really?_ I suppose setting your robes on fire as a firstie, however misguided her attempt, does not qualify as cunning genius? Or allowing you to catch her helping Longbottom so that you would not see her other classmates helping each other out during a difficult task? Neville's was not the only back she had during potions, and I do not teach my cubs to use distraction as a method in achieving their goals."

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

"How silly of me to ask. That old coot always knew everything, somehow."

"Correct assumption," she said with a smile. "Admit that she bested you many times using quite Slytherin tactics."

"Perhaps they were tactics used to describe my house, but her crude use of those same tactics would never qualify amongst snakes," he paused, lifting his eyebrow. "And yes, I did know why she sometimes allowed herself to 'get caught'. I love her with all my being, but she is not a Slytherin."

"My apologies to your noble house, then," Minerva said with a small salute.

"None are necessary. She is better than all of them combined, even without the use of cunning," he said, with loving warmth and possessive pride. Because she was his.

"I'm glad to know that," Hermione said, walking into the living room with a teasing smile on her face.

She had indeed awoken to the alluring scent of crumpets being prepared, and it hadn't taken her long to put on a simple pair of trousers and a cotton t-shirt that she usually wore in the house. She would have come down sooner, but had decided that 'mother' and 'son' could use some time in private before she joined them.

Hermione had chosen instead to indulge in a few chapters of the book she'd been reading, and had spent a quarter of an hour thus occupied.

Severus was on his feet, trying to suppress his alarm at her sudden appearance.

She calmly walked up to him and placed a peck on his cheek. "Good morning, my love," she said softly, and his posture eased somewhat. "Discussing house rivalries before nine in the morning?" she questioned, one corner of her mouth tugging upwards.

Without waiting for a reply, she greeted Minerva with a loving hug. "Good morning, Professor."

The older lady returned the gesture with just as much warmth. "Good morning to you, too, my dear, and how many times do I have to tell you to call me Minerva?" she scolded her gently.

Hermione shrugged, a faint blush betraying that it was easier commanded than done.

Severus was still standing quite rigidly. Hermione turned to him and smiled lovingly. "No worries, you did say that I was worth more than the lot of them combined, which exonerated you completely," she said.

He just huffed out some air. "How much of it did you hear?" he finally asked.

"Enough to know that, although the stubborn man you are would never admit that a Gryffindor played him in his own classroom, you did give me credit where credit was due, and I treasure you for it," she said as she moved to sit in his chair, taking his hand and pulling him with her.

"I would say something about spying, but find myself overly qualified to resent the matter," he mumbled, but without real annoyance.

"I was not spying, but eyeing this crumpet, in plain view of all," she said as she reached from her seat at the side of his armchair for the one remaining breakfast item.

His eyes found Minerva's as realization set in. "I've been played by _two_ Gryffindors."

The women burst into peals of laughter, and he soon joined in. He could barely imagine a more comfortable morning.


	24. The unlikely choice

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** There are no words to say how much I wanted to write this, but the words didn't come – or what did was a poor excuse for a continuation.

I wish to thank all of my readers, those who comment and those who choose to stay silent. I hope you continue enjoying this story, few and far between though the updates may be.

Also, a huge thank you to dancesabove, who nudged me out of my hiding place and made this chapter so much more enjoyable to read.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23<strong>

**The unlikely choice**

Slow and steady steps echoed on a deserted street in a west London neighbourhood, the sound bouncing off the cold sidewalk and disappearing into the fog.

The man, barely twenty, held his head low, his hands in his pockets. The collar of his coat was turned up in a modest attempt to shield him from the nearing winter, puffs of air painting an eerie scene in the receding light as he exhaled.

Turning to make sure he was not being followed, a habit from the war, he pulled his wand out of his sleeve holder and disappeared with barely a sound.

* * *

><p>Severus put on his coat and glanced into the living room. Hermione lifted her eyes to his, leaving Teddy in blessed ignorance of her lack of presence in their animated debate.<p>

With a few murmured words into the boy's ear, she rose and crossed the few short steps to meet him.

"I'm off," he said, his usual relaxed manner somewhat missing from his tone of voice.

She put her hand gently on the lapel of his coat. "It'll be all right," she said with a soft smile. "He doesn't bite, you know."

He didn't seem comforted by her joke.

"It's only Harry," she tried again.

"Yes," he drawled, his eyes fixing on his gloves. "Only."

"Will you be long?" she asked, but he only exhaled in response.

Leaning in, he brushed his lips over hers. "Don't wait for me."

She watched him leave, and with the sound of the door's closing, murmured, "You silly man."

Returning to the living room, she met Dora's understanding eyes.

"It'll be all right, dear. They have been progressing quite amicably so far."

Hermione shook her head. "It's still strange to think of the two of them sharing a pint without a wand being held to either of their heads."

Dora chuckled. "Things change. You do realize that they are each other's only remaining link to Lily?"

Hermione let out an understanding sigh. "I do. It doesn't make me worry any less."

* * *

><p>"Good evening, Severus," Harry said as the older man appeared at the street corner. The encounter was only mildly less awkward than their previous ones, and only because much effort has been put forth from both sides into making it better each time.<p>

"Harry," Severus responded with a nod. He observed as the young man peeled his figure from the outer wall of the corner pub, obviously showing no interest in going in.

He couldn't say he genuinely minded; the smoky atmosphere of the pub would hardly be his preferred choice.

"Do you mind if we walk for a bit?" Harry asked, motioning to the nearby entrance to Hyde Park.

"I do not," Severus said, and they ventured on.

When young Mr. Potter had sent him an owl, only days after the anniversary of his parents' deaths, it was not a surprise to Severus. After three years, it had, after all, become a sort of a melancholic tradition.

It always took them a few days after the actual anniversary to find it within themselves to speak to each other.

"Thank you for the flowers you left," Harry said finally, his eyes still on the path.

Severus felt the knot in his stomach forming, but he chased it away, as he had schooled himself to do in these situations.

"She loved poppies."

It was hard – really hard – to talk about her. Especially this time of year, and even harder with her son, the boy he was responsible for orphaning.

"Did she?" Harry said, a sad smile on his face. "I thought it was daisies best."

"She loved daisies best, yes," Severus answered. "But..."

"Yes. Well, they are lovely."

The boy was bantering, as uncomfortable as Severus with their meeting and the conversation. Something was troubling him, something other than the obvious.

"Harry," Severus began, intent on finding the reason for the young man's distress, but Harry was quicker.

"Ginny wants to have a baby," he said, his eyes lost in the distance before they turned sharply on his former professor, so suddenly that Severus was left speechless. Not because of the statement, but because of those eyes; the eyes that screamed betrayal and endless loss every time he allowed himself to see her shadow in them.

"I don't want to have a baby yet," Harry remarked, and his words brought his companion back to the present.

Good God, the boy wanted fatherly advice from him?!

Earlier, while he was preparing for this evening, he'd pondered these last few years and the subtle relationship both of them had managed to form. Their meetings, initially revolving around the search for Hermione, had taken a turn for the more personal when they'd met in Godric's Hollow on the 31st of October three years before.

That night had been somewhat like this one, but the difference was vast. There'd been only a nod after they stood next to each other in silence for a long time, their eyes focused on the memorial and the names of the beloved.

The second time, Severus went alone, reluctantly leaving Hermione with Dora and Remus, and not telling anyone where he was going, although it was not a hard guess. Finding Harry at the grave was an expected and not unwelcome sight. They stood in silence together, honouring the fallen side by side, not as enemies, but as men who lost too much.

The year in between, especially their contacts after Hermione's recovery, had put them in a position where there was really no one else for Harry to come to with questions about his mother. Remus, yes; but he hadn't known her as well as Severus had. He didn't love her as Severus had loved her, not in the same way.

They never talked about that love, or better said, Harry never asked… and this year it was no different.

The third time – last week – Severus went by himself, and stood for a long time, waiting for the boy, not that he would ever admit to it. Still, being alone there again, as he'd been for all those years before, he let his mind wander, and was grateful for the solitude.

Harry's owl came a week later, requesting a meeting.

Now the boy spoke. "I know we should be talking about Mum, we so rarely do; besides, it's not like it's easy for you or me, but she wants a baby and I don't know what to do and..."

"Calm down, Mr. Potter," Severus said, slipping into his customary tone of voice.

Harry shuddered. "Harry. 'Mr. Potter' brings back unwanted memories," he said.

"Harry," Severus repeated, this time more patiently. For the life of him he could not understand why the boy chose to confide in him. "Now, when did Ginevra express her wish for an offspring that put you in such distress?"

"This evening," Harry said, running his hand through his hair nervously. "This afternoon, to be more precise. We were at the Burrow, and Bill and Fleur are expecting and she just... came out with it, right there, at the table."

"Oh Merlin, I do sympathize. Molly was, I presume..."

"Oh, she was horrified, said that we were too young and all that, but…" he turned to Severus, "you do know Ginny."

Severus would have chuckled, had he been a more open man in the presence of one Harry Potter, but as this was not the case, he simply nodded. "Indeed I do. I presume Molly's reaction didn't hinder your wife in her idea?"

"Let's just say that I was never so happy to meet with you," Harry said hastily. Faced with a cold cutting look from Severus, he turned bright red. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

Severus stopped him before he made an even bigger mess of his words. "Harry, much to your dismay, I do know you more than you think. Now stop blubbering and let's get out of this fog. I think we both need a shot of firewhiskey if we are to continue this conversation."

He apparated them directly to the Grimmauld Place library, spell-locked the doors, and motioned to Harry to take a seat in one of the paired armchairs.

The young man gratefully accepted both the offer of an armchair and the warmth of the fireplace.

When Severus poured two double shots of the amber liquid and extended one to Harry, he wordlessly accepted and downed the glass straight.

Severus was not pleased with the sight.

He swirled the liquid in his glass as he sat opposite the raven-haired boy who used to set his teeth on edge, and really looked at him.

He was faced with the image of a man much too weary-looking for his years, with a sombreness in his eyes and an inner turmoil he could not quite pinpoint. Nevertheless, he did not like it. At all.

"I have a feeling that I shall regret this, but," Severus said, taking the glass from Harry's hands to refill it, "I have seen that face too often in the mirror not to recognize a man in trouble."

Harry's eyes widened, but the next moment his shoulders, followed by his whole body, slumped into the armchair as he let his head fall down.

"Furthermore," Severus continued, seriously, but not judgingly, "I have oftentimes downed firewhiskey in a similar manner to yours just now, and I do believe the expectations of young Mrs. Potter are not the cause for such familiarity with strong liquor at your age."

Harry crawled further into the seat, the shame at being so correctly perceived overwhelming him.

When his eyes, those eyes, met his again, it was with a silent plea for help, and not just the sadness he had witnessed earlier.

"Harry, what is going on?" Severus asked, his hands folded in his lap and his glass left unattended on the side table.

The young man broke eye contact and focused on the fire.

"Why should I tell you?" the old caprice bubbled on the surface. "It's not like you care."

"Drop the act, Mr. Potter." The name brought Harry to look at him at last. "Ah, yes; I do reserve the right to call you 'Mr. Potter' when you start acting like this."

Harry's face fell in shame again. "I'm..."

"Yes, yes," Severus interrupted the boy's apology. "I do not care – at least I _did_ not – but since you have chosen me as your proverbial shoulder to cry on, and in the recent years you have proven yourself worthy of being treated as a human being, albeit a capricious one sometimes, I am willing to listen."

Harry was speechless.

"Naturally, if you do not wish to talk to me, I'll be more than happy to release you from this library."

"Perhaps that would be best... this was a bad idea..." Harry said, his eyes avoiding Severus's knowing gaze as he stood up from the chair, glanced at the untouched double shot of firewhiskey still in Severus's glass, and walked towards the door.

With his hand reaching for the doorknob, he stopped. After a moment the rebellious hand dropped to his side, the instinct to flight leaving him.

"How much did you love my mother?" Harry asked, his voice frail, broken; his eyes downcast in defeat.

The fire cracked softly as warmth, the soothing familiar warmth of a place lived in and loved, invited him back to calmness.

"With my whole being and more."

Harry turned and faced Severus. "I can't have a child with Ginny because I am lying to her. I am lying to everybody."

"You should come and sit here," Severus commented, and the boy came obligingly.

His eyes fell on the glass once more.

"Should I dispose of this?" Severus asked.

"Yes, please," Harry answered him, and the glass disappeared the next moment.

"For how long?" Severus asked, alluding to the obvious.

"Since the war," Harry spoke, quietly, as if the soft tone of his voice could downplay his troubles. "Everybody wanted something of me. A picture, a moment, a word, some advice. Who am I to give anybody advice?! I am twenty; I know nothing. They all look at me as if I'm the saviour of the world and their lives; the answer to all of their problems and it's been like that for nine years. Nine _years,_ Severus!"

The older wizard sat silently, thankful for the Muffliato he'd cast together with the locking spell on the door. He carefully observed as all the frustration, the rage, poured out of this young man, and for the first time saw the level of his torment. He could kick himself for not seeing it sooner, but his mind was never on Harry for long. It should have been. He owed it to Lily to look after the boy.

"No one ever asks me what I want, about the important things. I am supposed to be what they all want me to be, so I do it. I fight Voldemort, kill, destroy… and they want to shake my hand. My hand, Severus! Are they mad?!"

"Yes. The world is mad. And worse than that, completely oblivious."

Harry met his eyes and there was a bond forming that had previously been missing, an understanding of two soldiers recognizing each other after a long battle.

"I wake up some nights and his voice is still in my head," he said, his posture as pained as his voice. The alarm on Severus's face registered quickly. "No, not like that. He is dead, and not coming back. It's... memories, then flashes of what... of what he made me see... before... things he did..."

"How often does it happen?"

"Around important dates, anniversaries, every time I relax and all is going well... I don't know how to be happy, it sets my teeth on edge... it can't be real, you understand?"

Severus nodded, a sombre expression in his eyes. "So you drink to take the edge off."

"It's not like it's a constant thing, but it's a thing and I can't just... ignore it anymore."

"Then you are a bigger man than many, and I am glad you chose to face it."

"How can I tell Ginny? How do I tell her I don't know how to be happy about loving her, let alone father a child? It's not like I do not want a child. I love her. But I can't... I can't become that man..." He stopped himself, but it was too late. "Oh God, it was your father, the man I saw in the Pensieve." He put his head in his hands at the disgusted look in Severus's eyes that confirmed it. "How you must loathe me," he whispered.

It took several deep breaths for Severus to regain his composure. Of all the nasty things and all the complicated messes he could have found himself in, there had to be a Harry Potter with the beginnings of a serious alcohol addiction dropping into his life for counselling. It was too ironic to be even remotely symbolic.

"I do not loathe you," Severus said at last, his voice as tempered and guarded as his emotions. "It was an extremely difficult situation, and one I have not shared with another soul since your mother." He stood and faced the fireplace. Of all the people, he found himself confessing his childhood horrors to Harry Potter.

"Tobias Snape was a bad man who never looked out of the tiny box he was entrapped in, and destroyed his family with his addiction. He acted without regard to his wife and child even in the moments of sobriety, and never felt a moment of remorse for the hurt with which he afflicted them. You," he turned to face Harry again, "are your mother's son. It took big guts to tell me of all people this, and it shows that you are nothing like that man you saw in the Pensieve."

He moved back into his chair and leaned forward. "I never thought I would be having this discussion with you, but here goes. I am not your father, but I could have been. I have played a direct role in the deaths of your mother and father, a burden that will remain with me for the rest of my days. I was a selfish idiot who chose darkness over light and suffered greatly for it, and is still suffering. You have done bad things, difficult things in the war, things no one ever wants to talk about or hear about. It is a guilt that never goes away. You have not killed the woman you loved and orphaned her son, but other deaths sit on your shoulders, just as Lily and James's and countless others sit on mine."

He paused, and in that moment Harry could see such misery, but on the other hand, such release in the eyes of the older wizard.

There was something about coming clean, and they both needed that. It was only fortunate that the most willing ears were the ones most in need of those confessions.

"People come to me and congratulate me for killing Voldemort, and all I can think about are the bodies lined up after the final battle, or Beatrix's cackle when Sirius fell into the veil... and Hermione... It was my fault... it was all my fault... and they congratulate me."

"You will have to find a way to live in peace with your past. It is hard, yes, and I can tell you this without sounding pathetic. There is no need for complicated phrases here. You have to see the good you did, and it will be the most difficult task you will do. You concentrate on the good to avoid thoughts of the bad. It will never be easy, but it will give you something to do. You will not have peace of mind, nor will you be able to convince yourself that the good overweighs the bad. There are no laurels to lie on. You just choose the good over the bad, and do it daily. You do it by coming clean to your wife. By respecting her. By honouring her intelligence with the truth. It is a rare gift to have the woman you love loving you back, and free to do so. Do not waste it," Severus said, his voice taking on a tone that left Harry in no doubt about whom he was really talking.

"Is it working for you?" Harry asked honestly.

"It has to. I have too much to lose now to choose any other option."

Harry let a small smile sneak onto his face. "You do love her. Hermione."

"I do."

"As much as my mother?" Harry asked, and it was out of real concern and protectiveness for his friend, rather than nosiness. He really needed to hear it, even if it was the equivalent of pulling teeth for his companion in conversation.

After a long moment and the most scrutinizing of gazes, Severus leaned into his chair. "You want to know?"

"Yes," he said. "She is my friend, the closest I have, and I have to know. You understand that I owe her my life."

"I do." He did understand. And he knew he had to honour the boy's honesty with his own. "To answer your question, I have to say first that 'love' is much too general a word. But in simple terms, yes, I do, in a different way but with the same intensity. Man to man, you do understand what it is to have a woman in such regard. Even if there were no recent evidence of the level of your connection to Ginevra, your actions after leaving school would have spoken enough of the level of devotion you have for your wife."

"I had to protect her."

"Yes. As well as you must protect her from the fall you fear, and thus you've come to me this evening. Harry, life has a wicked sense of humour, but I do believe we cannot go back to being grumpy and resentful to each other after this conversation."

Harry smiled. "I doubt I could, sir. I regret not knowing you before in a different way."

"You couldn't have known me when I didn't know myself in this way."

"Are we speaking of my friend again here?" Harry asked, when he noticed a familiar gleam in the older man's eyes.

"We are. And what puzzles me most is that I have no qualms in speaking to you about it. It must be because of the wand oath you are about to give to me that you will keep the details of this conversation... private," he said, accentuating the last word.

Harry shook his head. "_There_ he is. I was afraid you were polyjuiced. Do not fear, Severus, for I, too, need a wand oath from you."

A silent moment passed between them, and then wands were drawn and the oath spoken.

"Harry, you have to speak to Ginevra about this. And you need to stop trying to please everybody. It is not possible in the most simple of lives, and ours are far from it."

"Thank you, for the advice and the honesty." He extended his hand, and Severus tentatively took it.

And unbeknownst to either of them, another part of history had been repented.

* * *

><p>"When did you come back?" Hermione murmured as she felt Severus join her in bed a while later, rousing her from her sleep, as light as it was without him there.<p>

"A while ago," he whispered, pulling her closer into his arms. A new era had begun that evening, for naming this heart-to-heart conversation with Harry anything less flashy would be an understatement. If he was able to converse with his former menace about love and war trauma, he was able to do some other courageous things.

"Hermione, love, are you awake?" he asked softly, mindful of the hour.

"Yes. You know I can't sleep all that well alone," she said, turning to face him in the darkness, the frail moonlight their only illumination. "Why? Did something happen with Harry?"

He chose to answer delicately. "As much as I am amazed to say this, I do believe there is potential in him."

She chuckled. "I knew you had it in you, Severus Snape. It is a joyful day when you find kind words for Harry Potter."

He smiled at her. "I am beginning to see now why you hold him in such high regard."

She crawled into his arms and kissed him gently. "I am glad," she murmured, kissing him again.

She moved lower and snuggled into his chest, ready to fall asleep, when his velvety timbre roused her once more.

She thought she heard the words wrong, but it could not be. She was after all, awake and he spoke softly, but clearly.

Still, she asked him to repeat his question.

With a chuckle washing over his body like a most delightful sound wave, he said it again.

"Move in with me," he whispered into her hair. "I want to live with you."

She smiled, elated and wide-awake now. "You already live with me."

His arms pulled her closer to him. "Alone. I want to have you all to myself."

She buried her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. "I wouldn't mind having you all to myself, as well... as much as I love the Lupins."

"Is that a yes?" he asked, and only then did she hear a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

She pulled herself up and kissed him, boldly, firmly moving her lips over his until he relaxed and responded with equal ardour.

"I'll always say yes to you," she said when they parted, but soon he recaptured her mouth and kept her thus occupied for a long time… until they both succumbed to a sleep more sweet and relaxed than it had ever been before.

On the other side of London, a dark-haired man finally fell asleep in the arms of his wife, while she lay awake, stroking his head gently, evenly, not to rouse him out of his painfully earned rest. There would be no babies in their near future, but she realized now what a man she had, and concluded that he was more than enough to her for now. Society be damned, and all her previous notions of happiness. She was as happy as she'd ever been, and she had some hard work to do to convince this sweet tormented soul cradled to her chest that they could have their normal life after all.

It would be her mission to return the trust he'd shown her that evening, but before that, she had to say a big thank-you to a certain other dark-haired wizard.

Ginevra Potter was not privy to the details of the conversation Harry obviously had shared with Severus, but the bright woman added the facts with the weeping man in her arms. She knew of only one man brave enough to inspire her husband to do this, and although he was the unlikely choice, he was definitely the most appropriate one.


	25. Trio

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** And so it goes on... hopefully this is a sign of the muse forgiving me and coming back.

Please forgive the inaccuracies; I rely on Google maps and an overactive imagination. ;-)

At press time for this chapter, "Untouched" had 391 reviews, 405 followers and was a favorite of 207 readers. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Comments are golden!

Last but not least, a big thank you to my beta dancesabove.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24<strong>

**Trio**

Hermione walked out of the small bookshop on Exmouth Market that had become something of a favourite of hers in the past months. New book in hand, she set her sights on the equally familiar small cafe a bit further down the street.

Despite the November chill, she chose to sit outside – after all, a sunny day in London at this time of the year was to be treasured.

Like hundreds of her peers in this great city, she settled into her book, the warmth of her coffee seeping through her disposable Styrofoam cup.

She tried not to be nervous. After all, it was only Harry. Still, there'd been something in the air the night Severus returned from his own meeting with Harry, and although he had said few words about the matter, she knew her old friend's invitation for _'coffee or something'_– with the P.S. of _'Ron might come' _– was a bit out of the ordinary.

Harry and Ron.

Yes, she tried very hard not to be nervous.

So here she was. Some of the crowds of people rushed down the busy street, while others slowed their walk, meandering into the many coffee and tea shops and other establishments scattered left and right of the road.

The sky was unusually clear on this particular day, and she closed her eyes for a mere moment to enjoy the sunshine on her eyelids.

In her light cream coat and thick chocolaty brown hat and scarf, she was not concerned with being recognised by anyone. After all, as deep in Muggle London as she was currently, the chances of someone stumbling on her were close to nil.

Just as she was about to pay attention to her book again, she caught sight of a black-haired man rounding the corner, his eyes searching for any sight of her.

With a wave of her hand she brought Harry's attention to her, the smile on her face matching his own.

"Hermione!" he said excitedly, leaning down to hug her. "It's great to see you," he added, sitting down.

"Where is Ron?" she asked, expecting to see the familiar redhead not far behind.

"Oh, he'll meet us in half an hour in Wilmington Square Garden. I hope you don't mind." He said it with a fair share of nervousness in his voice. "I need some private time with you first." The young man raked his hand through his hair.

She followed his movement with her knowing eyes, and before he could repeat the gesture, she leaned over the table and took his hand in hers.

"Harry," she said softly, giving him one of her searching looks. "What's wrong?"

His eyes met hers, frazzled, but then relieved that she'd opened the topic for him. "It's okay. I don't want you to worry. Look," he glanced over his shoulder. "What do you say that we get coffees and find a friendly park bench in the gardens, where Ron can spot us?"

"Sure." She glanced around, then smirked, "The decor of this place leaves much to be desired."

"Yeah. They're all the same now, if you're not in Kensington, that is..." he observed with a feeble smile.

He rushed in and purchased a coffee, the largest they had, and soon the pair found their way to the garden, speaking of little things, Harry gathering courage to broach the big issue, and Hermione giving him time.

Some children ran beside them. Their mother, walking a few steps behind the two energetic lads, warned them with a raised voice not to go far.

Harry's eyes stayed on the children a moment longer than necessary, and Hermione knew him too well not to notice it.

"Severus told me you were at Grimmauld Place the other day," she started their conversation, nudging him gently to open up.

"Yeah. Sorry for not coming to say hi, I was in a..." He sighed, meeting her eyes at last. "Let's just call it a peculiar mood."

"I gathered," she said softly.

"Why? Did he say something to you?" he asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

She hid her small smile in her tea cup. "Oh, he said something."

Faced with Harry's now-worried and somewhat crestfallen look, she decided to come clean with her tease. "He said that he sees potential in you," she said, her smile more evident now. "I can see how that alone might put you in a… how did you describe it? A 'peculiar mood.'"

Harry let out a long relieved breath, but catching his friend's quizzical eyebrow, he knew she must have sensed that there was more to the story of his short visit to Grimmauld.

"Harry, I know you. Something is up, and since Severus is keeping quiet, and trust me –" she paused, placing her hand over his – "I tried," at which he chuckled, "I can only deduct that it's something serious. And I want to know everything, now."

"Bossypants," he said affectionately.

Turning around discreetly, he let his wand fall out of his sleeve into his hand and whispered a narrow-range _Muffliato._

"Just for the Muggles..." he said, the answer to her unspoken question when he'd cast the spell. Taking a long sip of his coffee, he let his eyes fall to their clasped hands for a moment before he began.

And so he spoke, hesitantly at first. Then, reassured by her warm eyes and forgiving words, he trudged on.

He didn't notice when she took the cold coffee out of his hand and threw it in the bin behind them. All he felt was the warmth of her mittens as she now held both of his hands in hers, the woolly texture curing the numbness of his bare knuckles as much as her comfort cured the anguish in his soul.

He found it difficult to look at her, so he looked at those hands. Somehow it helped the words to flow. Softly, a difficult confession formed on his lips, the details being muddled, blurring the line between what could be forgiven and what would stay as a mark for a long time.

She listened as the man who was chosen by the perfidy of the fates to be the saviour of the wizarding world confessed his fall, the fall that was silent but no less painful. The fall that was still not fully stopped, only mildly slowed since his recent decisions to confide his problems to Severus and Ginny.

She understood, in her present situation more than ever, how it felt to be pushed into the cruel and violent madness of the war. No one came out unscarred, and to think that things could continue simply and pleasantly for all was a very childish perspective.

Ron found them curled into each other, and to the uninformed observer they would seem like an ordinary couple in a loving embrace. Her arms were around him, and his head hidden in the crook of her neck. It was indeed a loving embrace – an embrace that forgave and understood – an embrace that told him, together with words whispered into his unruly hair, that she understood, that it was all right not to be perfect; to have demons.

She noticed Ron first, but her hands stayed put, rubbing slow circles into Harry's back as he struggled to breathe and not cry in shame at his friend's reaction. Her shimmering eyes met Ron's understanding gaze as they silently lamented the fate of their dear friend.

Harry finally sensed the presence of someone. Turning out of her arms, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"Hello, mate," Ron said as Harry composed himself. "So I guess you told her," he stated the obvious as Hermione nodded, pulling a handkerchief out of her handbag and silently passing it to Harry as she willed her unshed tears to go away with a deep breath.

"Hi, Hermione," he said as she stood to hug him. "You okay?" He received a shaky nod in reply.

"I think we need some hot chocolate and a change of venue," she said as Harry joined them.

He agreed and at that moment became aware that all that had just happened could have been witnessed by almost anyone. He would have been deeply mortified at his loss of control over his emotions in such a public place if he hadn't placed a Muggle repellent spell along with the Muffliato.

It had been a long while since they'd spent time together, just the three of them. Although they saw each other quite often, it was usually while others, be it the Weasleys or the Lupins, were in their company. In those isolated situations when it was just one of the boys with her, the conversation was difficult if they grazed below the surface of their everyday lives.

They had spent a year on the run, in the most intimate and trusting situation one could share with friends; still, the rift caused by her captivity and their negation of their own issues made things tense.

As they walked to the small patisserie around the corner, she felt that a shift had been made. It might now be possible for them to talk, for the first time, as sincerely as they had done in the past.

"Umm... so, how have you been, Hermione?" Ron asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that closed in on them after the waitress took their order.

They exchanged a look that clearly said 'keep talking until he comes round,' and she dutifully threw herself into describing Teddy's latest mischief.

"... and you can imagine Tonks's face when she realized her dearest son wasn't suddenly displaying his metamorphogus traits, but had simply managed to paint his hair red!" Hermione laughed, finishing her tale and sipping on the fresh cup of hot chocolate they were gratefully imbibing at that moment.

Harry smiled, shaking his head. "I guess that magical colouring set Fred and George gave him for his birthday hasn't lost its potency yet," he commented, leaning back in his chair.

He observed the relaxed conversation, the atmosphere of the good old days, and for a moment imagined that it was possible to have that again.

Ron caught his drifting attention with a question.

"What?" Harry asked, obviously not listening.

"Shake out of it, man, I asked what my sis was making for dinner, and can I be invited?" Ron replied, a smirk on his face. Indeed he'd asked something very different, but there was no point in repeating it.

"I have no idea, but you _know_ you can always come by," Harry said, and Hermione was once again struck with the feeling of loss – loss of the year they'd had to rebuild their lives and form new habits, such as dropping by your sister's new home for an impromptu dinner or joining the twins for Sunday quiddich, a regular occurrence nowadays, as she'd found out recently.

"Oi, Hermione, what's the matter?" Ron asked, noticing her wistful gaze.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "I just... you know, I miss you. This," she said, motioning to indicate their comfortable table talk.

"Yeah," Harry said, taking her hand in his again. "Thank you. For earlier. I really am a mess," he said, once again lowering his gaze.

"We all are," she whispered, and Ron ran his hand comfortingly down her back. Nowadays his touch didn't make her jump and run screaming, which was a blessing he was well aware of.

"You know, I don't think I'll continue with the Auror training program," Harry said. "I talked to Gin and she agrees with whatever I decide."

Ron looked at him, surprised. "Are you sure about this? You are the best we have on the team."

"I am sure Ron. I don't want to do it. I've fought, we all have…" He paused and met Hermione's eyes as well as Ron's "…more than we should, and we had no choice. But now we have. I think I'm done with fighting."

There was conviction in his tone of voice, a certainty born of difficult times.

"What will you do? Not that there is any rush," Hermione assured him.

"I don't know. I keep remembering how it was when I first discovered magic was real. I thought it could fix everything." Harry's eyes took on a glow of hope, his speech rushed.

"I think I might train to be a healer," he said finally. "But I'm done with Aurors, as long as I have any say in the matter," he added.

"Merlin knows that if you're going, I'm going as well. The thing is just too stressful," Ron declared, swigging another large gulp from his chocolate mug.

"Well, that takes a lot of weight off my shoulders," said Harry. "I didn't want you to think I was abandoning the ship," he explained.

"You two have a communication problem," Hermione said with a smile on her face. She was genuinely happy with her friends' decisions. Aurors were in the line of fire far too often for her liking, and she feared for them every day.

"And you? What will you do?" Hermione asked Ron. He simply shrugged.

"Haven't got a clue, actually. Oh," he said, suddenly realizing something. "Mum will go mental when I tell her. Actually, it might go better if you tell her first, Harry. She always liked you more," he said, earning a swat on the shoulder from the man in question.

"That's not true and you know it. I may be her favourite son-in-law..."

"Her _only_ son in law," Hermione corrected with a grin.

"Yes, good point, but still... you're her flesh and blood," he said to Ron.

"Which makes me more susceptible to her jinxes. She thinks twice before she jinxes _you_!" Ron replied.

Suddenly Hermione burst into laughter, and the boys soon joined in until they all were doubled over with stomach cramps.

And just like that, it was like old times. Almost.

"We need to get together more, just the three of us," Harry said, placing his arms on Ron's and Hermione's shoulders. "We need this; the rest of the world be damned with their wishes and expectations," he said. "They can wait."

"That's the spirit!" Hermione said warmly.

"It was your boyfriend that instilled the thought into my thick head," Harry said, and luckily Hermione didn't notice Ron's sharp frown at the mention of said 'boyfriend.' She was far too busy being happy at the mention of the man she loved, and hopeful that they could form a friendship in the years to come.

"Oh, did he?" she asked, quite curious to hear Harry's answer.

"Yeah." Harry's eyes roamed the small establishment in a feeble attempt to minimize his words.

"Harry James Potter, would you by any chance be telling me right now that you think one Severus Tobias Snape was..." she cleared her throat dramatically, earning a smile from Harry and an eye-roll from Ron "..._right_ about something?"

Harry chuckled. "He is a good man. I never knew it before, but I can see it now," he said honestly, and Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

"You have no idea how much it means to me that you will try to understand him. I need both of you in my life," she said gently.

Ron observed the exchange first with scepticism, then the obligatory refusal of their words, even though he could not ignore it anymore. He still had more than his fair share of doubts about Severus Snape, and could not fully accept Hermione's relationship with the man.

"Don't think I don't see that frown, Ronald," Hermione jested, trying not to sound too harsh. But the lightness of her tone didn't negate the point.

He met her eyes. "I'm trying. It's not easy."

"I know, but keep in mind that Severus is not going anywhere out of my life. In fact, he is coming into it more." She blushed, but spoke on. "He asked me to move in with him, and I said yes, naturally. We will be looking for a place of our own soon. In fact, I've already started," she said, a knowing smile on her face.

Harry watched his friend's face, knowing an explosion was not far off. Ron had had anger issues ever since carrying the medallion during their hunt for the horcruxes, so he reacted quickly.

With his eyes on Ron, Harry told Hermione that they'd be right back, and pulled the other man out of his chair and towards the exit of the small cafe.

Hermione watched their animated discussion through the window with more than her fair share of worry.

After a few minutes they returned, the black-haired man's eyes showing relief and understanding, and the red-headed one's cast downwards.

Harry had the good sense to disappear into the bathroom for a while.

"I'm… sorry," Ron murmured as he sat down.

She waited until he managed to look at her, and gave him a reassuring smile.

"I have a short fuse nowadays, and Harry reads me better than most," he explained. She nodded in understanding.

Ron looked in her eyes. "It's just... of all the men in the entire world, did it have to be _him_?" he asked, his voice equal measures of irony and sadness.

She sighed and took his hand in hers. "No. But it _was_ him. And we have been over this," she reminded him, tiredness sneaking into her voice.

"I know," he said, leaning back into his chair.

"Ron, you know that we would not be happy as a couple together. It was one more of those ideas and impressions everybody else pushed onto us," she said calmly.

"I know, I know... but I do love you," he said, his eyes wide, sincere.

She smiled softly. "And I love you. But I am _in_ love with Severus."

Ron let out a long sigh. "So, living together? If he had any sense, he would be on his knee by now," he huffed, shaking his head.

Hermione smiled, although the image made her suddenly nervous. "I think he's waiting for me to be ready for the commitment, not to mention that we..." She trailed off, suddenly aware that her intimate life was definitely not something she wanted to discuss with Ron.

Thankfully, The Boy Who Lived knew when to get back to the table, and so the discussion floated back into safer waters.

They walked her back home, always careful, always vigilant. They didn't have to be Aurors to act like ones. The memories would forever be with them.

Passing Wilmington Square, her eyes caught the sign of a real estate agency on one of the townhouses, the same sign she'd already spotted on her way to meet them.

With a satisfied smirk and already forming a plan, she hugged the boys and agreed to meet them next week.

Until then, she had some houses to hunt.


	26. Wilmington Square

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Rolling on. Thank you for all of your wonderful comments!

Now, be forewarned. The pace of this chapter is faster by far than that of the rest, mainly for practical reasons. The next chapter will be paced as usual; fret not.

I hope you enjoy house talk. I had such great fun Googling their possible home, and think I've found the right one. I am not English and have been to London just once, so please don't flame me if I've made some obvious errors.

Hope you like it! Comments are golden!

Finally, a big thank you to my beta dancesabove!

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25<strong>

**Wilmington Square**

Their steps were somewhat hurried, not out of need, but simply following that unconscious tendency of people who've just spent some time in a public gathering at a play or movie theatre.

In this case it was a concert, a pleasure Severus much liked but had rarely indulged in during the last decade, and a pleasure he was happy to discover he shared with his girlfriend.

Arms entwined, they discussed the orchestra, the music, the little things that she loved more and he less, their steps eventually slowing down as they reached the bank of the great river.

"Severus, I've been thinking about the move..." she said, after their discussion came to its logical close.

"Should I be worried?" he asked in a teasing manner, earning a smirk and a huff of indignation.

"Really, Severus..."

He could almost feel the roll of her eyes that accompanied her voiced protest. In silent apology for his minor trespass, he wrapped his arm around her waist and they continued their slow walk.

"I don't want to leave London," she said, after a short pause.

They had descended the steps to the water's edge, leaving the busy traffic some feet above them.

Turning to him, she stepped into his loose embrace. The lights coloured the waters meandering around the boat posts as the distant hum of the tourist ferry gave music to the familiar, almost ordinary evening in town.

"Not yet, anyway," she continued, as her eyes rose to meet his.

They had been to see the cottage near Hogsmeade after Minerva mentioned it, but it was too close to Hermione's past; too close to Hogwarts and all she couldn't have anymore. They hadn't even gone to visit the school, despite being a breath away. She just couldn't, and he, as much as it pained him, respected her wishes.

"I see no problem with London," he said. "What do you have in mind, house or flat?" he asked, his own preference being a house, something he was determined to convince her into if she were to have doubts.

"Can we afford a house?" she asked, her practical, mindful side showing.

He smiled. "Those Order of Merlin awards, yours and mine, have been gathering interest at Gringotts for a couple of years, not to mention that I have significant savings stashed in my private safe. I am quite sure we could afford a mansion, as long as it's not too close to the Queen's back garden," he joked.

She'd never really thought about money, not since she was rescued. Knowing that her bank account had been formed with the Order of Merlin money, and knowing the quantity of it, all she had done was arrange, via Harry, to transfer some of her assets to the Lupins' safe. She wouldn't have it any other way, although both Dora and Remus refused the transfer. The result of that was a personal scholarship fund for one Theodore Lupin that collected interest from both Severus's and Hermione's deposits.

"I was thinking about a house; nothing big, but a house. I want a street door."

"I agree. A street door. Possibly a small garden. And nothing modern. Those boxed things unnerve me. A house needs to look like a London house," he added.

She regaled him with a smile. "See? I knew we would find each other on the same page."

"One more thing," he added. "Detached."

She chuckled. "_If_ we can afford it."

"I thought that was settled. And I don't mind saying that I love the use of 'we.' Only to be surpassed by the use of 'our,' once we buy the thing."

She snuggled into his chest, sighing contentedly. "I am so lucky," she murmured as she let her eyes close, relaxing in his arms.

He pulled her close to him, and caught the eye of a passer-by in the distance. The man seemed wistful after witnessing their display of affection, and Severus couldn't help but feel a bit giddy inside. "I am the lucky one," he replied, and so they stood, sharing the silence, the freedom, the anonymity that came with a normal life.

It was not bad posing as a Muggle from time to time.

"So, what do you say to Christmas?" she asked softly, leaning back slightly to catch his eye.

"For what?"

"Moving in."

"Hermione, it's the middle of November," he said cautiously. "And searching for a house could prove to be quite taxing on both our nerves, not to mention time-consuming."

She smiled mysteriously. "Oh, I think we'll find the perfect place soon," she said, and he thought that he'd caught a mischievous gleam in her eye, but it was gone no sooner than it appeared.

* * *

><p>It was in the very core of Hermione Granger's personality to always be prepared. The house-hunting situation was no exception.<p>

In the days that followed she recruited the help of the honourable ginger-haired gentlemen commonly known as the Weasley twins, who acted as her personal transporting agents and great company. When adding their charm factor, not to mention a Confundus or two into the equation, she was quite proficiently equipped to meet London's fast and fierce real estate agents.

Setting her sights on a five-bedroom home in Finsbury, since she didn't want to be too far from their friends, she gently informed Severus that detached would probably not be an option in this part of town.

"I know you wanted it, but we will live Muggle-style in a Muggle neighbourhood, so having a townhouse is much safer. Besides, it's Wilmington Square, a short walk away from Dora and Remus," she debated animatedly while they took their afternoon tea.

The eagerness with which she'd approached the house hunt, finally having something to do other than peruse the library, so greatly raised her spirits that Severus didn't have the heart to pull her away from the idea.

In short, if she liked the house – and she obviously did – he'd bite the proverbial bullet and buy the townhouse. The sum of money was hefty, but so were their vaults in Gringotts. Being a frugal man himself, Severus would never have chosen this particular address, but the closeness of the park and indeed, the proximity of Grimmauld were key factors. If Hermione was to function well and be happy in this new life of theirs, she had to be a short walk away from their magical friends. Without the benefits of apparition, he was aware that she would feel uncomfortable surrounded by strangers, no matter the comforts of a more isolated home.

"I guess we might be able to request a special out-of-the-registry Floo address, since we do have privileges at the Ministry," he said, thinking it over. "I would have to throw my presence into Kingsley's face, probably attend some boring gathering or other..." He didn't finish the sentence, because his hands and a moment later lips were much more pleasurably occupied.

"I love you, did I tell you that recently?" she said after they parted. "I know this is not sitting comfortably with you, but it _is _the most beautiful house! I'm sure you'll love it."

He sighed. "It's not the house, but the safety of it, although I am sure that between Remus, Bill and myself we will make it as guarded as is wizardly possible."

She caressed his cheek, then let her fingers slide into his hair as she settled more comfortably into his lap. "You are worried."

"I have reason to be worried," he said seriously. "When the press finds out," he paused, "and they _will_ find out," he added with disapproval clearly tinting his tone of voice, "I want you to be invisible to them, at all times. I am sure we can construct a permanent shield that will take care of the matter, although it will mean a few months of spell-work."

She grew pensive, then slipped off his legs and returned to her chair. "It's strange, you know. Sometimes I forget," she raised her eyes to meet his understanding gaze. "And then I have to climb a chair to reach a book on the top shelf, or I am washing the dishes and see soap on my hands, and it suddenly hits me..."

He took her hand in his across the table. She never had a huge meltdown when she remembered she couldn't do magic. Being able to see magic happening was somewhat soothing, for if she'd had to remain blind to magic it would have been a huge blow. This way, she still felt it as a part of her life. But being unable to perform it herself, she was constantly dependent on others to do magic for her, when needed. Naturally, faced with myriad issues after her rescue, the loss of magic seemed like a small price to pay. After all, it was her own choice, as she kept reminding herself.

She didn't regret it. Her mind over her magic. Whenever she asked herself whether she'd have chosen differently, the answer was always the same.

"How about we go see that house you picked out for us, tomorrow?" he asked with a small smile, pulling her out of her thoughts. They'd better focus on the future. The past was still haunting them enough that they avoided dwelling on it any more than necessary, although it was a constant battle.

She returned his smile. "I'd love that. The agent is generously holding off all other buyers until we decide," she chuckled, remembered the first viewing with Fred and George in tow. "And he did seem like the most snobbish man on earth when we met," she added casually.

"I guess we can thank the Weasley brothers for the agent's tolerance?" Severus asked with a knowing smirk.

"Well, did you think I took them along because of their great looks? Although, I do believe the agent was flirting with Georgie."

"I never realized George was gay," Severus commented, trying to picture the redhead flirting with some uptight and full-of-himself Muggle. He admitted that it must have been a hilarious sight to behold.

"Gay? No, but he let the agent believe differently. He really deserves an award for his acting skills. I do believe they almost agreed on a date, but then he confunded him, so..."

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead focused on pouring himself another cup.

* * *

><p>As much as he protested, Severus instantly felt inclined towards the property once he'd laid eyes on it. The house was indeed beautiful, and how they managed to find it on the market was a mystery to both of them. Some luck must have come their way at last, for it was definitely not magic that vacated the place.<p>

A week later they'd put their names on the contract. When the transfer of assets came through – and it happened in record time, thanks to a squib bank manager and some moderate obliviation – they were free to take a breath and decide on the more mundane things, such as furnishings and decorations.

"It will be strange in the house without you two," said Dora as she accompanied Hermione to her new home. It was really only a short walk from Grimmauld, making it the most perfect location for all of them.

Hermione smiled, sitting on an overturned wooden box, one of very few things left by the previous owners. "It's the right time, Dora; you know that as much as I do. Remus and you need your house back, much as you might disagree, and it's the right time for us as well," she said, without even a hint of the embarrassed blush Dora had often witnessed in the previous months.

"You are quite the power couple, you know," Dora said, a teasing smile on her face.

"I wouldn't call us a power couple. I read and mope around the house, and Severus is becoming quite proficient at keeping a low profile. The lowest possible."

"You can't blame the man for wanting some peace, and besides, a year without obligations of any sort was just what he needed," observed Dora tenderly, thinking of the haunted man with sallow skin that was Severus Snape during the war and at the time of Hermione's capture.

"He is getting terribly bored," Hermione said, daring Dora to deny it. "He thinks he's so clever at looking occupied, but I know that he is far from content. It's not in his blood to be without a mission for long, as much as he hadn't much choice in the past."

"He is content just spending time with you," Dora retorted smugly. "And that man does need to make up for all the loveless years in his life, if you don't mind me saying it out loud."

Hermione smiled, but her sadness at the thought of the man she loved dearly being so neglected in the past, both by friends and lovers, made her shake her head in disbelief. "I don't understand it. I know he is not the easiest of men, but that no one..." she raised her eyes to meet Dora's "...that _no_ one saw through him. It's unfathomable."

Dora let out a slow sigh. "You do realize that he is as closed up as they get, with regard to his feelings? He doesn't socialize, unless it's with people he has known for years. He's made more friends in the last year than in all the rest of his life."

"I guess being a spy puts a damper on friendships."

"It's more than that. You did him good. You _do_ him good, and you don't even see how much. A year ago he would not have given Harry a chance to even say hello. And now look at them. And Bill... my point is that he's got friends, male friends of the normal kind, not freaks and death eaters with whom he has to act the part. And _you_ made that happen."

Hermione blushed now, averting her eyes. She found it hard to accept praise for anything nowadays – a big change from her previous self. "We do make an odd pair, but we fit, don't we?" she asked modestly.

Dora chuckled, rising from her own wooden-box of a chair. "As I've never seen it."

"Now," she said, looking around, "your wish is my command."

Hermione smiled as she surveyed the walls. "We're painting the walls vanilla in this room. It is to be the library. And no magicking the colour on the walls. Severus said all the work needs to be done manually if they have a real chance to bind the wards as they plan to."

"He doesn't expect us to _paint_?!" Dora exclaimed, horrified. "Oh no, we're calling the paint people, or whatever they're called in the Muggle world."

Hermione laughed. "Don't be silly. They just said that the paint had to be put on the Muggle way. No one mentioned anything about spelling the rollers."

A new laugh joined theirs, and they turned to see Remus in the doorway. "An idea to be taken into serious consideration. See?" he added, whispering to Dora, who had by then joined him, "still the brightest witch of her age."

"If you two are gossiping about me, know that I'm onto you," Hermione said with mock imperiousness from the far corner of the room.

"I was simply suggesting Hogwarts colours for the library instead," Remus said, to which his wife merely huffed in indignation, before reminding him not to lure the wrath of the Slytherin on the noble house of Lupin.

"You better listen to your wife Wolf, or I'll teach Theodore how to charm your hair pink, whenever he desires so," Severus said, joining the pair.

"So, what does the mistress desire?" Severus asked with a small bow towards Hermione.

She put her hands on her hips and raised her chin up. "Well, if you are prepared to do the work for me, I have a few ideas."

"A few, she says," Remus said under his breath, but loud enough for Hermione to hear him.

With a chuckle she directed them towards the paint buckets. And so the work began.

* * *

><p>Whenever Severus Snape thought about home, his mind brought up images of Spinner's End. As he stood in the doorway of their new living room, he could barely wrap his mind around the change.<p>

_Blessed_ was the word he sought.

Blessed that he was given a chance to look at a fireplace in a room that radiated comfort, from the wide sofas to the thick rug strategically removed a distance from the fireplace itself.

A smile sneaked on his face as he remembered Hermione listing, as if from a blackboard inside her head, the reasons why a cream-coloured carpet and Floo ash were not a good combination.

Thus the fireplace and the aforementioned carpet were now separated by a wide swath of dark, polished wood.

She had definitely enjoyed the process of 'nesting' into their new home, and he enjoyed seeing her happy and occupied just as much. He would never admit to enjoying the nesting himself, but (while he thought no one would notice) it didn't pass by Hermione that he had worked on fulfilling her requests with boyish exuberance.

With Bill and Remus, and (surprisingly) the twins' assistance, they had built wards around the house that were almost undetectable, even more untraceable, and most importantly, safe for Hermione and detrimental to anyone with malicious intent towards any of the "approved" ones. More or less, it was as good as it got without placing a Fidelius on the property. It would be impossible to obliviate everyone who would notice a house in the elite part of town simply disappearing one day.

Although there was still some time to spare before Christmas, the spending epidemic that seemed to infest Muggles ever earlier with each passing year was already rampant. All the shops were already lavishly decorated with wreaths and Christmas lights, proudly competing for the prettiest – and some for the most tasteless – window in the city.

A smart contribution to his–no, _their _living room was a tastefully decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

He'd never had a Christmas tree in his life before now.

Once, the mere thought of the holiday festivities had brought out the worst in him. He thought back on those days and tried to meld them with the image of the man whose reflection he now saw in the window.

A man in Muggle trousers and a V-necked jumper, all black but made of the finest and most comfortable wool, dress befitting the exciting new owner of a townhouse in central London.

A man who did not hide his scar anymore, at least not at home.

To their neighbours they were philanthropists, Severus a scientist taking a Sabbatical and Hermione his girlfriend, art lover and poet. Or so the neighbours concluded after witnessing the number of artworks being carried into the house, or encountering the not-so-talkative young lady of the house. Nothing created fanciful family history as fast as not giving much information to your neighbours.

He laughed. Their neighbours thought them as rich as they come, and the style of the furniture they'd brought into the house in plain view of the nosy elite surrounding them had contributed to that impression.

And, well, they _were_ rich. Indeed, when the money transfer came through, they became aware of the pound-to-galleon ratio and how it worked to their benefit. As almost no one from the wizarding world wished to live and buy property in the Muggle parts of England, the amount was startlingly low in galleons, but it acquired them surprisingly high-end possessions.

To say that the Goblins were angry over the transactions would be a gross understatement. Severus was convinced that the only thing preventing the bankers from banning them from further transfers was the fact that he was the notorious Snape. After he'd made a goblin quiver it became quite obvious that his old reputation still preceded him.

Yes, their new home was a true reflection of the sanctuary they wanted to create for themselves. Truly Muggle in the visual sense, the house still had a soft humming vibration, caused only partly by the wards that protected it from the outside.

For they had taken a generous amount of sand from the caves; as much as the lake was willing to release from its shores. It was willing to comply with their requests, so the sand was now woven into the protective layering of colour and plaster covering the walls. The house was literally covered with the physical manifestation of the protection Hermione and Severus always experienced in the Veela caves, and it contributed to the warm sense of belonging he felt, from the moment they walked into the house that evening.

It was to be their first night alone in their new home, and all the details had been taken care of.

Dora and Remus insisted that they complete the move while still living at Grimmauld, knowing full well the stress of working on a home while occupying it, although the Wilmington house was much friendlier towards its occupants than Grimmauld had been when faced with change.

Severus was thankful that they allowed themselves to be convinced, for it had been a simple matter of packing a few things into a suitcase this morning, their last as residents of the old house.

He was roused from his silent reverie by a pair of arms that wrapped softly around his waist, accompanied a moment later by the welcome weight of her torso as she leaned into his back, her breath playing tantalisingly over his bare neck.

"Thank you," Hermione said as she let her hands find leverage over his midriff and pulled herself closer into him.

"For what?" he asked, although he knew it was not a simple question.

She sighed.

A moment passed, a moment focused on the slowly falling snow, on the faint aroma of Earl Grey waiting for them on the small table, and on the simple, untainted freedom of being happy in each other's company.

"Thank you, as well," he said at last, and she did not ask him what for.

He turned silently and he took her hand in his, leading her to the loveseat and opening his embrace for her to nestle in as they let the heat of the tea cups warm the tips of their fingers, their eyes basking in the beauty of their Christmas tree.

They were home.


	27. The private lives of Slytherins

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** It has been a while... I hope you like this.

Of course, as always, this is brought to you with the wonderful and much appreciated help and advice of my dearest beta dancesabove.

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

**The private lives of Slytherins**

Severus Snape was a very private man. Generations of his students witnessed his reclusive, hermit-like nature, using it to excess as a point in conversations more than just mildly offensive.

No one ever bothered to ask themselves why the quiet-voiced Potions teacher always wore his sleeves tightly buttoned. He considered it a relief. It was easier if no one asked, and so… he made sure no one ever asked.

He had been a generous lover, in those rare moments of peace when he'd enjoyed the company of a woman. He'd given his heart away a long time ago, and any deep emotional tie he might have conjured with a lover was simply... impossible. There was always, only, Lily.

As a young man of seventeen, he'd never been with a woman before, never even knew a girls' touch other than a hug from Lily. His inexperience was too soon noticed and then... and then came Voldemort. He'd had nightmares of that night, the night when he took his Mark and was 'rewarded' with no less than five women, all under the watchful eye of his Lord and the Inner Circle of his followers.

The moments of that first and last revel he'd been Imperioed to participate in had left wounds he could never truly heal. He'd been forced to climax, to enjoy himself with these women, his will taken away from him with the Imperio. Never after did he allow his mind to become so weak.

For years after, any human touch was simply abhorrent to him, and too difficult to endure. After the initial blow his character and masculinity experienced that night, his body simply could not trust another being, woman or man. The trauma that first forced experience imprinted on him was too much for a young man already hurt and disappointed in love. Not even the Imperio curse was able to force his anatomy to perform again. He felt relief more than anything else when they taunted him about his impotence.

It was years later, one summer after Voldemort fell for the first time, that he'd met a woman in Portugal. A muggle who invited him into her bed, seduced him into feeling safe there, and taught him how to bring her pleasure. His own climax was to this day reserved only for moments of solitude, but he'd learned that summer that he could function as a sexual being. After being completely impotent for years, it came as a surprise. Still, the shame he felt for enjoying that first revel, even if he had by then reasoned with himself that it was against his will, left him unable to climax with a partner.

When Voldemort rose to power the second time, he'd made sure no one from the Death Eaters ever found out of his change in circumstances. No one ever knew about his Portuguese lover, no one even thought about him having someone special in his life. Not even Dumbledore knew. It was best that way. But by then, any notion of having time for a private life had firmly disappeared. It would have been unfair to the woman, even had he found the time. Still, with his renewed ability to become stimulated, he had made it a point to brew and keep in stock an impotence potion he'd used religiously. And again—only this time by his own design—he'd become as unresponsive as they all knew him to be. The only good that ever came out of it was that he'd been spared having to attend any subsequent revels, and put to "better" use by spying for both sides.

But now... Hermione had changed him. She'd changed everything. She was his light, and they were finally in their own home. More than a month had passed, and they were settling in comfortably. She was slowly but surely turning back into the bossy, quick-witted young woman he remembered her being. As the object of her affection, and hence her bossiness, he was privy to the transformation and he loved it.

He smiled softly as he moved to get out of said bossy woman's embrace as gently as he could without waking her. It would not be right to rouse her from her sleep only because of his... need.

Severus Snape was a very private man, and still his dear Hermione somehow knew more than any other woman dared to know about him. Since they had moved in together a subtle but noticeable shift had occurred in their bedroom. She dared to ask the questions, and he was brave enough to answer them as truthfully as he could without revealing too much of his own painful past. It was too soon for that, but if he could ever imagine admitting to _anyone_ the full extent of his past experiences, it would be her.

Minding the creaky floorboard, he reached to get his wand from the bedside table. A non-verbal _Silencio_ was too much of a bother on a Saturday morning.

Closing the door and casting the necessary enchantments, he leaned his back into the heavy oak and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. His groin throbbed after last night's explorations of his young love's body, and he reached to touch the hardness of his cock through the silk fabric of his pyjama trousers.

Yes, there had been a noticeable shift in their bedroom activities, but it did nothing to relieve him in—and in fact it only increased—the burning passion he felt for her and still could not express by worshiping her body.

Their progress was remarkable, but they were a long way away from making love in the normal sense.

His hand rubbed slowly along his shaft, still staying on the outside of his trousers. He didn't rush the moments of his own solitary release. He'd learned to savour them, imagining her hand on him, her body over his.

He did not feel shame in his actions. The choice of not telling her served only to keep her from feeling inadequate to his pleasure. There would be no point in her having such feelings of inadequacy. He was only ever able to feel pleasure when he could assume the outcome, making it quite a solitary task. But she did not need to know that yet. Although pleasure was a territory they were slowly threading toward, it was a conversation that would ultimately lead to a greater reveal, that of the reason for such a solitary choice, and he was not ready yet for that conversation.

With a laboured sigh he slipped his hand into his trousers and hissed at the contact of his palm with the hot, slippery head of his cock. He rounded it gently, preferring the attention on the head rather than the length of it.

His Portuguese lover sucked him before, and as much as he enjoyed it, he was rather particular about it. It always needed to be under his control, with careful instructions. Like everything else in his life, and for the same unfortunate reason, everything had to be carefully controlled.

His partner in bed had had no objections. He chose her wisely to make sure of it.

As his hand repeated the well-rehearsed movements, he let go and the images of Hermione started flashing in the forefront of his mind. Hermione kissing his chest, Hermione leaning over him, her nipples brushing against his thighs as she leaned lower, a mischievous eyebrow raised in question as she wet her lips...

He cancelled the silencing spell after vanishing the seed from his tired hand, and promptly stepped under the shower, thus giving himself the perfect alibi for his absence should she wake up, as well as removing the scent of sex from his skin.

He didn't know that she had waked the moment he closed the bathroom door. Every time, as soon as the lock clicked, she would open her eyes, knowing what the long silence before the shower started meant.

She didn't understand why he felt that he had to hide it from her. After all, the things they had done in bed recently rid them of any squeamishness about each other's nudity and sexual needs.

She still had a long way to travel, but they were getting very creative.

Still, he hid in the bathroom to give himself relief, and Hermione was becoming a bit puzzled by it. And a puzzled Hermione was soon to become a determined Hermione.

Turning to his side of the bed as she heard the shower start, she pulled the sheet up over her naked body, a soft smile flitting over her face as she remembered the reason for her nudity.

"_A new year," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her slip the satin robe off of her shoulders. _

_They had chosen to celebrate at home, only the two of them, the novelty of being all by themselves still terribly attractive. _

_An evening with champagne, candles and a picnic by the fire was arranged, and Severus didn't snort in disgust once over the romantic tone of the tableau. _

"_A new year indeed," she echoed, stepping between his legs, the edge of her satin nightgown fluttering against her thighs. _

_His arms were there to welcome her in as she leaned down to meet his lips with her own. _

"_Mmmmm... again," he whispered, a simple request he dared to place now. He was rewarded promptly. _

"_I could kiss you forever," she sighed against his lips. _

_In a practiced routine, he moved into bed first and watched with hungry eyes as she climbed in over him. She lay against him, her thighs brushing his, her head nestling in the crook of his neck. _

_Closing her eyes, she let her palms wander. His naked chest was a balm to her skin, and with each night she dared to wear less, only to be able to feel more of his skin beneath hers. _

_And it had been a very pleasant night so far._

_His arms, by no means idle, encircled her, pulling her into him, his palms gently moving down her back from the tips of her shoulders to the smoothness of her hips and back, inscribing soothing circles into her bones and muscles. _

_She tipped her head back and he was there to meet her lips with his, their hands continuing their relentless explorations. Pulling her up until she was straddling him, he continued to map out her body, touching the bare skin only in the places she chose to bare for him._

_But tonight was about to become different. _

_With a firm push of her tongue she reclaimed dominance of their kiss and tangled her fingers at the base of his head, pushing into him, and his hands met her waist to find balance._

_Never before had she kissed him as hungrily, and he was surprised to say the least, but let himself be steered by her and enjoyed it greatly. _

_She pushed him down into the bed and ground herself against his straining cock, watching in primal satisfaction as his eyes shut and his brow furrowed. _

"_Sweet Merlin, woman..." he hissed as his hands reciprocated the attention of hers and pulled her into another scorching kiss._

_Rising on her hands above him, sheets of her auburn curly mane curtaining their gaze from the world, she paused. _

_His lips pulsating from their latest kiss, he tried to read her eyes as he struggled to calm his breath._

_She was spread above him, over him, in clear control of their sensual rhythm, and there was a question written on her face, as clearly visible as the light sheen of perspiration endearingly accumulated above her upper lip._

_His palms slipped down to her sides, his thumbs gently rubbing circles into the sides of her breasts and she moaned, her head leaning back in a primal gesture._

_He almost came at the sight of her._

"_Severus..." she panted as her eyes met his again. "I..." she paused, and he repeated the earlier gesture, this time making her drop her lips next to his ear._

"_I want your hands on my skin," she rasped, and he could not choke back the groan that rumbled deep within him._

_She rose on her palms just enough to meet his eyes and, if he needed a translation of her words, which he did not, offered a clear phrase; one that blew the air out of his lungs._

"_Take it off," she whispered, her eyes on his, her tone sure, her hands the next moment on his as she rose into a sitting position. _

_She held each palm of his up to her lips and kissed it, then led them both to the rim of her nightgown. "Take it off," she repeated, with certainty and love in her eyes. _

_It broke her heart how his hands trembled under her gentle attention, affirming her decision and scattering away the last remnants of fear of being seen by him, like this, knowing what it would mean. _

_He dared not say a word. He didn't trust himself to speak; indeed he would not have trusted himself to act if she hadn't placed his palms effectively where they needed to be._

_All it would take for him to see her skin—all of it—was to move his hands. _

_And yet he could not. Holding completely still, their eyes connected, he simply absorbed the moment, his mind paralyzed by the sheer trust in her eyes. _

_A gentle nudge, a leading pressure on the top of his palms, finally made him resume. _

_She led his hands over the tops of her thighs, his fingers collaborating in collecting the fabric along the way, but no more. _

_When they reached her hips, she inhaled deeply, and they stilled. It was a small moment, but enough to wake him from his trance. _

_He slowly rose to her until they were equal, both sitting, her body too close in his embrace for him to see her, but not too close for his palms to continue their path._

_Her eyes locked onto his and her hands abandoned his for the safety of his neck. _

_With a nod and a deep breath, she gave him permission to continue in his task._

_He slipped his fingers under the satin first and then slowly, ever so gently, slid up until the fabric draped over his forearms and he could feel her breasts under his palms._

_With a soft sigh of surrender she closed her eyes and lifted her arms, the garment floating off of her in the tenderest of touches. She let her arms fall against her torso as she heard the sound to her nightgown fluttering next to them on the bed, but she could not open her eyes. _

_And then there was silence._

_He slowly lowered his arms until he mirrored her pose, complementing her in every way but one, that of keeping his eyes open._

_Softly as her breath on his face, he let his eyes roam over her closed eyelids, over the tiny freckles at the tip of her nose and the perfectly shaped eyebrows. He let his gaze wander over the magnificent landscape of her face, the magically created valleys and hills of her lips, her mouth, her chin. How he adored this woman, this creature unlike any other he'd ever met in his life. So different, so rare was she to him, and the courage with which she sat here, still and open in all her fragility, resting calmly in the eye of the storm. It simply stole his breath away. _

_His fingers brushed against her sides, travelling lightly over the skin he dared not see yet. Not until she opened her eyes to him. In an unspoken agreement, he knew he could touch, but not look._

_The touch travelled further up, over the side of her breast, but this time daring to venture inwards rather than continue on its vertical path. The sharp intake of breath told him he was dancing on yet another knife blade, but she was a willing partner._

_His palm finally dared to cup the soft flesh of her young breast, and as the tip of his forefinger brushed her nipple, her eyes opened, and he was lost once more. _

_Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. No word, no sigh. But her eyes had never before been this communicative. _

_With a deep breath and a warming gaze from the woman in his arms, he dared to pay equal attention to her other breast, taking his time to reach it, just as before. _

_The spiderlike fingers danced over her skin, tingling, buzzing, awakening the surface of it, making her aware of it as she'd never been before. _

_With a deep, primal groan he let the palms of his hands slide deep over her shoulder blades as he pulled her into a soul-crushing embrace, and only then did she dare to breathe. _

"_My love... my darling," he whispered into her hair as his palms slid down her back, worshiping her gloriously nude skin, reaching deep over her muscles and back up until the curious fingers once again found their safe harbour in her untameable curls._

_She smiled, a shy, unsure little laugh escaping her throat as he pulled her away only enough to meet her teary gaze with his own._

_Her palms travelled to his chest, and with deep love she leaned in and met his lips in a soft flutter of a kiss, as tender as the touch of her fingertips on his chest._

"_Lean back," she said softly, her words accentuated with a more noticeable push against his chest. "See me."_

_And he obeyed._

...

Hermione smiled as she curled into the warmth she could still feel from his side of the bed. He hadn't been up long, and the shower had just been turned on. It had been two weeks since he'd undressed her for the first time in their bed, the memory still causing butterflies to dance in her belly.

She was so sure, so forward with him that evening, and so proud of herself, that it took her a couple of days and repeats of the same welcoming caresses to realize how affected his own body was.

Looking beyond pure sexual excitement, she noticed a more important issue... He was almost afraid of touch—almost as much as she was. Saddened by it, but at the same time determined to relax him as much as he'd relaxed her, she explored every exposed inch of his own beautiful body, just as he'd done to her.

Which led them to the events of last night.

She blushed and covered her face with the sheet, which still held the scents of mint and cloves and her Severus.

But there was no time to dwell on the wonderful details that had led to her complete nakedness for the first time. The shower was still running and he had been rather stubborn last night about reciprocating in the removal of clothing.

After the experiences of her past, Hermione found almost childish excitement in exploring the body of her lover, and his loving examination of hers. Only… he would not be convinced to remove his pyjama trousers, silencing her quite efficiently with the power of his feather-light kisses. And when a man like Severus Snape was on a mission to bring pleasure, there was not a woman alive, not even Hermione Granger, who could keep her mind working.

She shivered at the memory of his lips tracing alluring patterns over her hipbone, for the very first time, as his breath tickled the newly exposed skin. How she wished to do the same to him, to feel all of him, to slide her hands over his body slowly and with as much care as he'd done to her. She was unsuccessful in persuading him to let her touch him as he had touched her last night.

But it was a new day now, and she had a mission concerning the man behind the heavy oak door—the man hiding his need for pleasure from her in what she speculated was his misguided concept that the knowledge would hurt her.

With one final deep breath to encourage herself, she rose slowly from their bed, letting the sheets fall behind her as her feet hit the warm carpet. One determined foot placed in front of another, she closed the distance to her goal and pushed the door open.

He felt her presence the moment she entered the bathroom, and he could not say he was surprised. He knew her well enough to be aware that, even though he had tried his best to distract her last night, she would eventually have her way.

He could not blame her for being curious, and he'd fought his own fears to inspire such freedom in her, to dare to be curious about a man's body. Still, it did nothing for his own fears, the fears he still kept firmly shut inside.

And now she was here, in the room, standing behind him, with nothing but a sheer curtain of steam blocking her view of him.

Thank Merlin his back was turned to her. Those moments granted to gather his courage were very much needed.

She let her eyes wander over the strong, wiry muscles spreading over his shoulders down his arms and back to his shoulder blades, obviously tense and highly aware of her inspection. She would kiss them first, she decided. Her eyes travelled lower then, to the small of his back and the tangle of nerves hiding behind the little cleft there to his soft backside, the muscles just barely visible beneath the pale skin. And his legs... the legs that carried him, carried her so often, with the spidery web of dark coarse hairs scattered over the well-defined muscles of his thighs... so many places to kiss and touch and worship.

Her Severus. Her love. How scared he must be, to stay turned away from her still. Her heart clenched in love and adoration as she walked steadily into the shower.

"You are so beautiful..." she murmured as she wrapped her arms around him, letting the spray of water soak into her curls as she lay her first promised kiss on his left shoulder blade. "...So brave, my love," her voice danced over his skin as her lips travelled over his spine to reach the right shoulder.

All this time he stayed still, silent, frozen. A leap of faith of previously unfathomable proportions was required of him, and he was not ready. But was a man like him _ever _ready to show himself to a woman like her? And did he _need_ to be ready?

She pushed a soft kiss into the middle of his back, and a knot released somewhere deep inside him, letting out an avalanche of emotions he'd so diligently tried to suppress for so many years.

His darkest fears, his deepest secrets had been destroyed with a single kiss by a knowing woman. A woman who saw him, saw through him. _What a fool I was,_ he thought, _to think the moment was far away, especially after the intimacy we shared last night... I should have known._

Her palms now travelled from his shoulders, down his sides, and over his hips until they curled inside and rested on his stomach, pulling him into her.

He could not move, his arms dangling like limbs of a broken puppet at his sides as she connected their wet bodies together, his skin touching her, her belly expanding and pushing into the soft skin of his lower back with each breath.

He was lost.

An animal-like cry rose from his gut, half-groan, half-plea, as his hands found hers and clutched at them in despair.

"I see you, Severus Snape. And it's all right," she cooed into his back. "It's perfectly all right."

"It's not... you don't know what—" he began, but she silenced him with another kiss between his shoulder blades.

"You will tell me, eventually. Not now," she decided. "Now I want to look at you," she said confidently, pushing her left palm on his hip until he started to turn. "All of you," she specified, as his body obeyed her hand's guidance, turning until he stood facing her, the shower running down his back now, slicking his hair away from his face.

He closed his eyes.

"No. Look at me," she demanded, and he took a silent breath before he did as she told him. It was a demand, but a fragile one, and he knew the moment was too precious to avoid any longer.

So he looked at her.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

And the chains of another crime of the past started to rattle, to loosen their hold on an innocent soul diminishing under the power of a loving gaze.


	28. You have been loved

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Hello again! It's been an eternity, but I am back and you can expect fairly regular updates from now on. I bow to the greatness of my wonderful Beta dancesabove. Hope you enjoy! Drop me a comment, will you?

Love, Anette

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 27<strong>

**You have been loved**

Hermione turned from the teapot to tend to the owl pecking on their kitchen window. Severus watched her movements. He was mesmerised still from the encounter they had shared in the bathroom earlier; stunned to silence, and she was well aware of his reaction. She chose to ignore it… or better said, to not give it any attention that would make him more uncomfortable. After a year of living with this man, she knew his limits, and was aware that they'd gone far beyond one this morning.

She pet the owl and gave it a dried cockroach from the treat bowl in exchange for the _Prophet. _She still didn't read it, but Severus liked to thumb through it with his morning tea, so she laid the paper next to his place setting and turned to the whistling teapot again.

All this was played out in a virtually silent setting, the chirping of birds and cracking of the house easing them into their morning routine.

She poured hot water over two filter bags of Earl Grey. She wasn't in the mood for complicated tea this morning, and had a feeling he wouldn't mind this easy way out, either.

After pouring a cloud of milk into her own (well aware of the myriad traditions she was breaking by pouring milk after the tea and not giving a fig about it), she carried both cups to where he still sat quietly, his eyes ever fixed on her hands.

The china having touched the wood of the table top, her hand was free to wander. She sat beside him—not opposite as usual—and indeed her fingers sneaked to the back of his neck, the tips of her fingers raking into the roots of his hairline.

Severus exhaled slowly, and his eyes finally found hers.

She smiled over the rim of her cup, and his breath entered his lungs a little more easily.

He'd been having trouble breathing ever since she'd followed him into the shower earlier that morning.

She hadn't asked a thing. Not a word had left her mouth that would require an explanation of any kind from him. She understood there was more to it; she felt his inner struggle, and she chose to leave it be. She'd simply held him, held onto him until he reciprocated with equal trust.

Hermione understood and recognized his fears. The fears of the body as well as the mind. She knew she could break through those fears as patiently as he'd broken through hers. It would take time… but time they had.

And so they found themselves enjoying a quiet breakfast of tea and biscuits. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair as she leaned softly into his shoulder, satisfied to sip her tea and touch him. She lived for those simple things nowadays, and she hoped that he'd follow her lead soon.

As patient as Severus was, and completely devoted to her, Hermione felt that there was still so much her beloved held under his control, still so much that worried him in the silence he chose to be his companion, rather than sharing his thoughts with her.

Their lives had changed so much, in what some might call a long time. But to her as well as to him it was a heartbeat. A year.

She took a deep breath and turned her head up, her eyes inquisitive, a small smile quirking her upper lip.

He was defenceless when she gave that look and smile. "Yes, love?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse. After all, it was the first he'd spoken ever since she took his hand and led him downstairs, both of them all bare feet and towel-dried hair.

"I like how you say that," she whispered tenderly.

"Love?"

"Umm-hmm..." she snuggled closer into him. "Thank you," she added gently.

"For what?" A useless question, really.

"You know what."

He smiled. He did know. "You are a wonder," he whispered, leaning to kiss her hair. "And I am one lucky bastard to have you next to me."

"You are," she agreed, earning a raised eyebrow and a low chuckle. And just like that, life snapped back into normality. _Their _normality.

She shuffled her feet and turned so as to face him at a slight angle, taking her cup in her hand once more and absentmindedly leaning the warm porcelain to the tender skin of the top of her breasts.

He wanted to trade places with that cup. His eyes obviously couldn't hide the thought behind the gaze, and she chuckled, observing their progress.

"Mr. Snape, am I stealing your attention from the daily news with my wicked ways?" she flirted shamelessly, her bathrobe opening that little bit more while she leaned towards him.

"You most certainly are," he said huskily, taking the teacup from her hand, placing it on the table. She sighed as he cupped her face in his palms and pulled her gently that little way towards him, his lips welcoming the softness of hers in a languid caress. How he loved kissing Hermione so openly; not rushing, not fretting. One hand slid from its curly post down towards the warmth of her collarbone and further, until it nestled over her heart.

Severus pulled away for a moment to silently seek her permission to let his hand wander over her skin further, then felt her pull him in even more. He relaxed into the kiss over which she now took command.

"You are too tantalizing for your own good," she managed to murmur in between kisses, her own hands roaming over his naked chest. "Too few clothes, too much temptation," she whispered as her lips found his shoulder.

"And whose decision was that?" he rasped as he pulled her into his lap.

She chuckled. "That would be me as well, wouldn't it?"

He smiled and met her shining eyes as she lifted her head from his shoulder. With a final gentle kiss she snuggled more comfortably into his lap, stealing a biscuit off his plate as her eyes wandered over to the cover of the Prophet. "Is there anything remotely interesting in there nowadays?" she asked.

It was the first time she had asked about _it. '_It' being their world.

"Well, after you remove the usual advice to the broken-hearted witch or wizard and skim over the advert section, the dribble is per usual. It is yet another blissfully boring edition," he said, feeling her sigh as she took it in her hands.

She perused the cover and her eyes watered. "I forgot that the pictures moved so much," she said softly, her voice betraying the fragility of her emotions.

His arm tightened around her waist and she gave him a small grateful smile. "You don't have to..." he began, but she shook her head.

"No. I want to," she said as she opened the paper with trembling fingers. His hand slowly rubbed comfort into the small of her back as she leaned into him and they perused the paper together, the only sounds in the kitchen again being those of the birds outside and the house around them.

* * *

><p>How they got harangued into attending this atrocity was beyond him. Nevertheless, the formerly dark and brooding wizard known as Severus Snape again found himself escorting his better half into a room full of Weasleys.<p>

"Severus, Hermione, welcome to the first annual After New Year New Year's party!" Harry said, with a grin much too wide for Severus' taste. While taking their coats from the man himself, Harry leaned in and whispered in exasperation, "Ginny made me come as well, I swear." They exchanged a long-suffering look while Hermione pushed a bottle of wine and a box of Severus's special brand of chocolates into Molly's arms to prevent the matronly witch from suffocating her in her hug. She was still ambivalent about hugs when they were not from Severus.

"It is wonderful to have you both here, my dears," Molly exclaimed lovingly as she ushered them in, seemingly oblivious to Severus's level of discomfort at being called 'dear' in front of company.

"Try not to scare the little ones, will you?" Hermione teasingly whispered to Severus as she noticed Teddy and Victoire in the corner by the Christmas tree. But as soon as Teddy noticed them entering, he broke into a run and crashed into Severus, hugging his legs and demanding not a second later to be picked up, a task the tall wizard had no option but to obey.

"Do you hear that?" he said, turning to Hermione (but his voice carried enough to be heard by Remus, just entering on the far end of the room). "It's the whooshing of my Scary Bat of the Dungeon persona as it runs from me in shame, forsaking all connection to Severus Snape, as it was once known!" He balanced Teddy on his hip. The boy had grown since he'd last carried him.

Hermione broke into a laugh so healthy and welcoming and fresh, that his heart clenched in exquisite delight. To think he had brought forth such a sound…

"_Who_ is the scary bat of the dungeon?" Teddy asked as he wrapped his little arms around Severus's neck for support. The scene, so normal to the Lupins and Hermione, caused a halt in conversation never previously experienced in this particular house. The boy was clueless to it, thankfully.

"Nobody you know, son," Remus answered Teddy's question as he walked over to greet them, a chuckle barely contained on his lips as he leaned in to peck Hermione's cheek.

Severus and Remus exchanged a look that calmed the first and warmed the heart of the second man, even as Severus realized just how much he'd let slip in front of so many people.

"Too late to go back to the old brooding self now, my friend," Remus said in a quieter voice. "I believe Teddy just outed you for the man you truly are." He smilingly ruffled his son's hair.

"What does brooding mean?" Teddy asked this time, and Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation while Hermione chuckled again.

"I'll explain later," he said as he walked further into the room, the boy still glued to his hip.

Hermione walked behind the two of them. She saw more than one raised red eyebrow as she exchanged greetings with this Weasley and that, but only answered with a silent smile as she thought about the man they all seemed to be seeing for the first time.

After the initial commotion, conversation flowed and it seemed that this nonsensical idea for a party turned out to be just the thing everyone needed. Although the formality of a dinner was shirked in favour of a more casual eating arrangement, Molly yet again outdid herself in the assortment of delicacies both sweet and savoury. The younger ones fell asleep in the middle of the carpet, literally under the guests' feet.

The grown-ups fell into a comfortable lull after one too many butterbeers and bits of chocolate pie. Mirroring the way Hermione sat on the floor leaning her head on Severus's knee, Ginny leaned against her own husband. Each held a sleeping child in her lap: Hermione had been Teddy's choice for a pillow, while Ginny cuddled Victoire.

"This is nice." Harry's eyes met those of Severus. The older wizard nodded in silent agreement, his hand absently stroking Hermione's curls.

Indeed, it was more than nice. It was a picture of family relaxation previously unbeknownst to Severus. In the corner Arthur and Ron were engaged in a marathon game of wizarding chess while Fred and George looked on, delightedly trying to charm pranks into the figurines and Confund their father and brother. The Lupins and the younger Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in a comfortable discussion on the sofas closest to the fireplace. All had found a place for themselves in this small but oh-so-comfortable house, and Severus said a silent prayer of thanks to whichever deity chose to put him here. Into this reality, where the woman of his dreams sat sleepily next to him and he was happy, warm, well-fed and surrounded with friends. Yes, _friends._

A warm hand touched his shoulder and his eyes rose to meet the knowing and loving gaze of Molly Weasley. "The Unsinkable Molly," he called her, the muggle metaphor being a private joke between the two old friends.

"Thank you, Molly," he said softly, and only the two of them knew his thanks related to more than just the fabulously arranged afternoon and evening.

She smiled and caressed his brow. "You're welcome, dear," she answered, and this time his soul effortlessly accepted her chosen endearment. He returned her smile, and her eyes became a bit wetter than a moment before.

"She's asleep," Molly said, gesturing to Hermione. She had nodded off together with Teddy. "If you want, you can carry her to one of the spare rooms..."

"Thanks, but she can't sleep alone," he answered, and she nodded in understanding. A year, and still it was too fresh.

"You are welcome to stay tonight," she offered. He nodded his thanks.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to risk it. It's been a very quiet month," Severus said, and they both knew what he was talking about. Molly again caressed his brow, as an older sister would show love for her younger brother when no one was looking. Well…almost no one, for Harry and Ginny both observed the exchange in silent wonder.

"You have done a miracle. This"—she looked down at Hermione, and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she watched his gentle hand stroke Hermione's hair—"is a miracle."

He nodded silently, patting Molly's hand on his shoulder with his free one. "She is. She is my miracle," he said in a whisper, his gaze getting lost in the fire.

Molly looked over and her watery gaze met her daughter's equally wet eyes. They knew they'd been privy to a very private side of Severus Snape, and knew better than to turn his attention to the fact. They also knew, though, that to stay convinced he'd opened himself thusly without consideration of their presence would be selling themselves short of the true value he'd obviously bestowed upon them, to put them in his trust.

Sighing heavily, Mrs. Weasley slowly moved away from the couples and leaned in the doorway to observe her tribe. The matron, the alpha female of the family, Molly found peace in moments like these. Soon she would join Bill and the others at the table, but in this one moment she was happy to count her blessings. Most of them sat in this very room, and she knew that each and every one of them felt loved. It was, after all, the greatest gift.


	29. Reflections of her

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note: **And we continue... I hope you approve! A world of thanks to my Beta dancesabove. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28<strong>

**Reflections of her**

Severus carried his love tenderly up the stairs that led to their bedroom. Hermione was so tired; the food and good company had relaxed her to such a point that she'd barely had the energy to open her eyes and say goodbye to their wonderful hosts and friends.

With a nod, a wave and a promise to see all of them again soon, they had exited the Burrow. No sooner had he moved to apparate them than she sagged in his arms, trusting him to take her home, to take care of her when they got there.

She mumbled incoherently into his neck as he placed her on the bed. He smiled indulgently, caressing her brow. "Sleep, my love," he said softly as he walked over to the dresser and pulled out a nightgown for her and some pyjama bottoms for himself.

Rushing through his evening routine, he quickly returned to her still, peaceful form and changed her into the nightgown with a swish of his wand. Of course, he much preferred to undress her the standard way, but he hadn't the heart to disturb her sleep for his own selfish purposes.

He would undress her in the morning, he concluded with a secret smile.

Hermione curled around him as he lay beside her, almost instinctively. So natural was his touch to her, so natural his presence, that even in her sleep her body moved to be closer to him.

A long way they'd travelled, Severus observed as he wrapped his arm around her in a protective embrace. Leaning his chin on top of her head, he exhaled softly and remembered his words to Molly.

She was his miracle.

* * *

><p>Mornings went by, days passed and winter made room for spring again.<p>

Their lives continued in the same marvellous routine: their mornings tranquil, their days relaxed, their evenings daring. Each day their connection grew, each night they surrendered more and more of each other's bruised soul to the only one worthy of such trust.

Very gradually, Hermione began to read the _Prophet_ again in the mornings, commenting occasionally on this or that nonsense. When the newspaper ran a story on their relationship, she huffed before she reached the second paragraph, throwing the paper on the far end of the table in indignation.

Severus visited the editor that afternoon, and that was the end of that.

Now it was yet another morning, and Hermione had just fed the owl its obligatory treat while reaching for the daily post. Just like that morning of a few months ago, she made two cups of tea—the lazy kind—and served them while carrying the mail under her arm.

He took the paper and the tea, and she returned to their bacon and eggs.

Then the silence was broken by the sound of the doorbell, and they exchanged a look of puzzlement, followed by a mutual glance at the calendar.

"Oh my God, it's Thursday!" she exclaimed, looking down at her bare feet and legs. Between the two of them they had on one pair of male pyjamas: she the top, he the bottom.

And it was Minerva's Thursday.

The doorbell sounded again. Hermione had blushed to the roots of her hair, but Severus was ready to surrender, a smile growing on his face with each passing moment.

"Isn't a way we could pretend we're not home, is there?" she asked, resigned already to her fate of merciless teasing.

He rose from his chair and came to her. As he pulled her face to his and kissed her slowly, she held one arm away from their bodies, letting the cooking spatula in her hand languidly drip oil onto the countertop. "Relax, love. It's not as if she's never seen me like this before."

He walked to the door, his gait unhurried, his brow relaxed.

"But she hasn't seen _me_ like this before!" he heard her exclaim behind him.

"Good morning, Minerva," Hermione heard from the door. The greeting was followed by a long pause, and then a throaty laugh broke through the air.

After some shuffling, the professorial duo entered the kitchen, where Hermione had managed to plate the bacon and eggs and had even started mixing the pancake dough.

Minerva chuckled at the sight of her, with her bare feet and oversized pyjama top and loose hair. "I guess no crumpets for me this morning, aye?" she quipped, and Hermione realized the ridiculousness of the situation, falling into a chuckle herself.

"I am sorry, Minerva, but we just..."

"...forgot about me, I can see that," the older witch finished the sentence.

Severus took over the pancake batter from Hermione. "I don't mind the look of you, but if you'd _rather_ don something more substantial, allow me to take care of the food," he suggested, dropping a sweet peck at the corner of her lips.

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione said as she rushed past Minerva, followed out of the kitchen by a barely concealed chuckle from both remaining parties.

"Dear Merlin! That girl hasn't blushed so since the Yule Ball," Minerva observed, simultaneously cocking her head towards Severus. "And you think it's perfectly acceptable to prance around like that in front of your senior colleague?"

He tossed her a look as he flipped the pancakes—a look that said his "prancing" was of no concern to him.

Minerva smiled, shaking her head. "I have to say, it's a breath of fresh air to see this picture of domestic bliss. You should marry the girl."

Severus gave the tiniest shake of his head. "And who says I don't plan to?"

It was so casual that it could have been mistaken for a joke, but there was just enough nervousness in his tone to let Minerva took it for what it was. An announcement.

He hadn't known that an elderly woman could reach such a high note so suddenly—yet the squeal of delight from Minerva's throat could rival any teenage Hufflepuffian girl.

"My ears are bleeding," he commented dryly as he placed the pancakes onto a warmed plate.

"Oh, _no _you don't, Severus Snape! I want details, and I want them now, before she comes back downstairs, agreed?"

Calmly and elegantly putting the plate on the table and adding another place setting for Minerva, he turned to the tea kettle and popped a bag of Earl Grey into a cup.

"I'm sorry, but you're condemned to the bagged sort this morning," he said without sincere apology.

"Nonsense, what do you think I drink when the elves have a morning off?"

He smiled and sat next to her. He seemed almost shaky, but for such a brief moment that even this canny witch couldn't be sure that she hadn't just imagined it.

"We've... discussed the possibility..." he said, carefully watching the door behind Minerva's back, "and I believe the time is right to act on that discussion."

"So you haven't asked her yet?"

"No."

"But you plan to, soon?"

Severus nodded.

Her eyes filled. "_Oh,_ my boy... I am so happy for you. For the both of you."

Bowing his head, he took her hands in his. "I know. And I planned to tell you, officially, soon. You stole my moment, with your nosy prying," he teased.

"There is no better moment for telling me than now; you in half your clothes, making what I'm sure will be the best American pancakes I ever tasted. Life is not meant to be lived in perfect conditions. It is all the more perfect that way."

He brought Minerva's hands to his lips and kissed each wrinkly palm. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, have you a ring?"

"Not yet."

She was silent for a moment, pondering. "You can have a ring… my ring, if you want it."

"Minerva, I—your engagement ring?" He was well aware what a treasure she was offering to him.

"You are the closest thing to a son I have," she said, her voice heavy with feeling. "Now, come to Hogwarts one of those days, and we'll discuss the details. If that pounding is any sign, I believe your soon-to-be wife is running down the stairs. We'd best discontinue this conversation until a more opportune moment arises."

He nodded, a rare smile lighting up his face. _Wife._ It did have a wonderful ring to it.

Hermione ran into the kitchen with a huff and an apology on her lips. The elderly witch simply waved her off, motioning for her to join in on the wonderful food Severus had served in the meantime.

It would have been unthinkable, merely a couple of months before, for Hermione to accept this little unplanned moment with the ease she managed to now. It served to prove just how much she'd managed to return to what one might call a normal life, with all its quirks and perks.

With a wry smile, Minerva noticed more than once how the eyes of the curly-haired witch seemed to wander over the unapologetically exposed chest of her partner. The man who once had worn his buttons tight and his collar high.

_Aye, things have indeed changed in the Granger-Snape household. _

"So, am I to await a visit in my little corner of the earth from the two of you any time soon?" Minerva asked. It was not an unusual question, and usually the answer was a polite 'Someday' or 'Maybe'. It didn't stop her from trying.

Hermione looked at Severus and wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether he'd like for them to go to Hogwarts. Together, it would indeed be easier to handle the onslaught of memories they both had tried to avoid for so long.

He met her inquiring gaze and his eyebrows rose to the roots of his hair.

"Really?" he asked, shaken off guard by the willingness he saw in her eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders, a soft smile playing on her lips. Past the point of filtering any discussion in front of this particular guest, she spoke softly. "We might."

He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles softly. His eyes found hers in silent gratitude… and something akin to boyish excitement.

"Oh, the elves are going to dance a jig when they find out!" Minerva clapped her hands joyfully, and Severus noticed with rising alarm how the comfort in Hermione's eyes evaporated. The phrase 'Too much too soon' existed for a reason.

"Minerva, perhaps we could arrange a more private visit, for this first time," he said, trying to calm Hermione with the sheer force of his gaze and the warmth of his palms still holding hers.

Hermione relaxed a bit, but her voice was still tight as she addressed the older witch. "I can't face it all at once. But I am willing to try it one small bit at a time." Her eyes never left Severus' as she continued. "We'll discuss it, and floo you with the details. But it is time for it to happen. I miss it, in a way..." she sighed softly, her eyes getting lost in the distance.

Minerva nodded silently in answer to Severus' request. It would be arranged. Hermione Granger was coming back to Hogwarts.

They moved on to safer topics, and conversation flowed pleasantly. They hardly realized time passing by, having moved to the living room when Severus decided to change into a more 'respectable' outfit.

"I'm surprised he lasted that long," Hermione commented as she set Minerva's teacup on the coffee table and moved to sit beside her on the comfortable couch. The wizard had just left them to go upstairs.

Minerva rewarded her with a soft smile. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see him so open. The sight of Severus Snape without a shirt was something I witnessed only when he was too hurt to fend for himself and too proud to go to Poppy." She shuddered, trying to expel unpleasant memories. "I am glad to see him so comfortable with you that even my presence hadn't chased him away to go dress sooner."

Hermione's smile was a wonderful mix of love and pride. "You are family, Minerva, and both of us are well aware that you probably know more about the private side of our lives than anyone else besides us." The young witch let out a sigh. "You probably know more about that side of him from the past than I've been made aware of so far, but"—again she paused, her eyes steeling with determination and latent power—"I do know him, and I can feel all the things he still is not sharing with me. It pains me that it's something so huge that we have to chip at it bit by bit, but I have no doubt we shall. We are a curious couple… but I cannot imagine my life being any way other than like this, with him."

"I am sure he would say the same," Minerva added softly.

"We are in love, and we are working hard to move away from the ghosts of the past—his _and_ mine," Hermione spoke quietly. "It will take time, and courage from us both, even for the small things, like him staying without a shirt earlier this morning. I see the struggle on his face. He is still worried, after all this time, that it would trigger me. And there is that something else—something he still is not sharing, but I know it's there; I can feel it when I look into his eyes."

Minerva nodded. "He has come a long way since he found you to love, my dear," she said wisely. "As much as he had me in his confidence for years before you, I can't say that I know the reasons for what you are sensing. There are things that he has never shared with a soul, and to have him do it with you, open himself up like that to you, represents huge progress. But I am sure you understand that."

Hermione smiled. "You know, it's not just the love. It's different from love; more layered. I knew I came into this relationship with..." She paused to gather her breath, "...traumas and issues hard to live with. We've worked through the fact that it was his choice to live with them, one he made out of love for me. And I have learned to accept that choice for the act of love that it is, rather than the pity I once believed it to be."

Minerva took her hand. "It warms my heart to hear you speak of it so."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, he was persistent enough, that at last it sank into my brain. We Gryffindors are known for the thickness of our skulls, after all," she joked.

"Oh, I do believe that particular trait goes beyond House characteristics," Minerva retorted, earning a healthy laugh.

It was to that glorious sound that Severus joined them. With his growing hair tied back, and his deep green V-necked shirt over comfortable black cotton pants, he was still a sight for Minerva's sore motherly eyes. Her boy was healing, thanks to this wonderful creature beside her, and she could not think of a more worthy woman to wear her own engagement ring. She would go to her vault this afternoon. She suspected Severus would be in need of it very soon indeed.


	30. Mother knows best

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note**: Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! A big thank you to my beta dancesabove, without whom I would be utterly lost. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29<strong>

**Mother knows best**

He'd had it all planned out. The romance, the dinner, the candles, roses and chocolates. How it all went so horribly wrong, he still could not process. He, Severus Snape, sat alone in his living room with a glass of Ogden's in his hand and the bottle on standby, planning a double murder to occur after he recovered from the hangover that was surely to ensue.

They say that sometimes even the most carefully laid plans will sometimes go awry. And go awry these did, without his particular input. He was absolutely not responsible for this tragic event.

No, the responsibility could be carefully traced to a particular red-headed duo. Again the menace known as the Weasley twins ran over his tenderly orchestrated idea like a tornado, squashing it before he could even petrify their sorry arses to oblivion.

The poor buggers didn't even have a clue how much damage they'd done. Even now, while he seethed like a slow-burning fuse of an atomic bomb, they were going on their merry ways, completely ignorant of how very near the ends of their lives they were.

He would have to apologize to Molly for ripping off the heads off her sons. Although, when she found out the details, perhaps she would volunteer to do the dirty work _for_ him.

It was a truth not universally acknowledged: that the one-and-only Severus Snape was the secret holder of the patent to the recipe used to create one of the most profitable—and, if associated with him, the most embarrassing—potions of the century.

Amortentia.

Yes, young prodigy that he was—and so desperately in love did he fancy himself to be with his muse Lily Potter (nee Evans, and indeed she _was _then still Evans)—that he concocted the potion as a boy of fourteen. One evening while slaving in the laboratory of his never-present mentor at Hogwarts, the modification of the ancient recipe had dawned on him.

Slughorn was oblivious of the personal potions Severus was creating while being assigned "special work" (also known as Infirmary potions) while the professor skirted his duties in the name of hobnobbing with the famous of the era.

It was Severus Snape who added the element of scent to the equation. Being so hopelessly in love with Lily, but not so immoral to dose her with the love potion, he chose a more subtle way of making her realize she fancied him. Being particularly endowed in the olfactory department, he learned to value the subtle subliminal hints one's sense of smell could send to the mind of his love. His plan was to have the scents of the potion serve as a channel from the subconscious to the conscious, making her realize they shared a deeper connection than friendship. He'd patented the modified potion and heavily secured his name, never to be revealed in any of the pertaining documents.

Never in his wildest imagination did he factor in the possibility that one day a two-headed ginger menace would decide to tinker with the runes while cooking up an extra-large batch of the aforementioned potion (the weekly special at WWW just in time for spring holidays). In a previously unforeseen error, the runes reacted to the ones encoded in Snape's signature in the recipe and turned him into the object of affection for everyone ingesting the potion.

And it was a really good business week for WWW.

Severus was livid. He'd been at the receiving end of affection and attention of more witches than he would ever wish to meet, and they were all sitting in the street, having reacted to the runic mishap that led them to his doorstep.

It had started five days ago, and since the potion was designed to strengthen with use over time, it naturally did just that as the week continued.

Monday it was merely the odd look here and there. He'd been in the market, picking up food for a dinner he'd wanted to surprise Hermione with. A muggle market. But it seemed that the witches could smell him, and it had only got worse on Tuesday.

On Wednesday he stayed in, and Hermione observed that she'd noticed a crowd on the Square when she'd returned from Remus and Tonks's that evening.

Now it was Saturday—the Saturday he'd planned on surprising his love with every romantic detail known to man and wizard. On finally asking her to save his sorry self by agreeing to be his wife. It was far from the Saturday he'd envisioned.

Hermione had gone to stay with the Lupins the day before, quite reluctantly and only until he'd discovered what on Earth was flocking all those women to their doorstep.

He'd just found out, his brain coming to a screeching halt when the dots connected.

_Impossible,_ he thought at first, but soon realized otherwise by checking and double-checking the magical trace he'd isolated from a mesmerised blonde trying to climb the fence.

He was going to murder the twins.

The potion recipe clearly stated that it was NOT to be combined with spell work other than the proscribed one exception. Foolish wand-waving was never his favourite form of magic, but it was a stipulation purposefully put in to prevent the runes embedded in the sequence of the stability spell to react badly with anything. It was sheer dumb luck that a more serious disaster had been avoided.

He'd have given them credit for the idea, were it not for the disastrous consequences it provoked. Runic magic was rare and potent; thus considered by his young self to be safe to embed. There were only a handful of wizards able to control runic magic in such a way, and it was unheard of that one would use such an unrelated branch of magic while making Amortentia.

Until now.

To add insult to injury, the whole thing became public knowledge, thanks to that nosy hag from the Daily Prophet. He was officially pegged as The Dark Casanova. It was a small mercy that the press didn't know the reason for this paradox.

A patronus slid through his wards, and the unmistakable voice of Molly Weasley spoke three words: "Unlock the floo."

Had it been anyone else, he would have ignored the short missive, but harbouring a feeling that she also had connected the dots, Severus waved his hand in the general direction of the fireplace. A second later she came through, and as the dust settled in her wake, she herself locked the floo back again.

With calm steps she went around his chair and simultaneously moved another one directly in front of him.

In his most controlled manner, he lifted his eyes from the glass in his hand and met hers with a look that could kill.

She closed her eyes at his silent confirmation.

"I thought you knew," he said, focusing once again on his glass. "All those years ago, when I created the potion, I suspected you knew, but you never said a word or acted against me, and I chalked it up to sheer luck. I suppose I was mistaken. You'd not be here looking at me like that if you hadn't come to the same conclusion."

"You are right; I would not have been here." She spoke calmly.

It was _another_ truth not universally acknowledged that Severus Snape, as a mere boy of fourteen, had a lab partner in his extracurricular activities in the form of Molly Prewett. The talented and most powerful witch, now most often described as "matronly," was a force to be reckoned with, but her skills in potion-making were sometimes a bit crude.

While working on Slughorn's potions, the two formed a secret friendship. For a girl in her last year at Hogwarts, and a Gryffindor to boot, it was unheard of to receive instruction in the finer points of potion-making from a scrawny fourteen-year-old boy whom nobody took seriously. But instruct her he did, and she was his only true friend in those early years, beside Lily. Nobody knew, and thankfully so—for later, when his life turned dark, he'd realized how a connection to him could have tainted her future.

"Tell me what I don't already know," Molly said, taking the glass from his hands. He would not have allowed anyone else to do that.

"The potion was not modified to manipulate, and I never gave it to Lily... " he began, but she waved him off.

"You are a silly creature, Severus. I knew that when I was seventeen. Actually, I've never _seen_ a more morally correct modification to a Love Potion as the one you made. Obviously the Ministry hadn't seen it either, for they would not have licensed it. It was brilliant, and I know why you created it."

Her eyes were warm, even now, as she remembered the boy so desperately in love with the girl so undeserving of his devotion. That was her humble opinion on the subject, but she was wise to keep it to herself.

He nodded in acceptance. "It was marked by runic magic embedded in the stabilization spell. Somehow" (and here he paused to give momentum to his next words) "those sons of yours managed to stumble upon it. Obviously they were trying to enhance the focus of the potion using another runic variable. I am sure they are unaware of the incidental reaction it caused." His eyes became icier still. "It will not, however, prevent their imminent demise."

Molly shook her head. "Severus..."

His gaze was thunderous. "I have a hundred bachelorettes on my door step!" he roared, standing up and towering over her. "Of all the weeks in my life, and all the moments I didn't want attention, it _had_ to happen now."

She carefully observed his face, and catching the despair in his eyes—the despair of a boy yet again denied his moment of happiness—she realized the root cause of his anger.

"Oh, my..." she said softly.

The wind seemed to be kicked out of his sails as he sat back down hard into the plush armchair, suddenly weary of the fight.

"You were planning on asking her to marry you?" she asked, her eyes full of understanding and love.

"Yes." A single word, a true response. She was too smart not to notice how the frivolity of this absurd situation clashed with his tenderness, and combined as it was with his intention to act upon his heart's desire, only to have this happen to him... it was too cruel.

She stood up, hands on hips, and suddenly she was the Molly Weasley everyone knew and loved. But the determination in her step held a hidden agenda.

"Well..." she muttered as she paced, already forming a plan. "Well." She turned and halted in front of him. "They are foolish creatures, but you have to admit, using runic magic is quite brilliant."

He grunted. "And?"

She huffed. "Severus, you are angry, and rightly so. And even if I am their mother, I agree they deserve a severe punishment for meddling with a potion in such a dangerous way. But..." Here she raised an eyebrow much in his usual manner "... perhaps there is a fate worse than death for them, and perhaps its execution could kill two proverbial birds with one stone."

He met her raised eyebrow with his own, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am listening."

And so they formed a plan. Phrases like _wand oaths, clearing this mess, putting them under his tutelage_ and _a secret contract_ were tossed about. By the end of the conversation, Severus was reminded of just how Molly managed to raise seven children to be more-or-less acceptable creatures. She was not to be angered, and she was as angry as Severus was at the mess her boys had made of his plans with their foolishness.

"Now," she said, once they'd sorted their plan to put the twins on a long overdue reformation course, "tell me... does she suspect anything?"

He blushed. He actually blushed, and her heart melted. "I don't think so. This whole week didn't go exactly as I'd planned, so she was not given much reason to suspect anything."

Molly walked to him and placed her palms on his chest. "You have a big heart in here, Severus. A heart that has finally found a worthy woman to love." She chuckled at his surprised look. "Don't give me that look. Just because I kept quiet in the past doesn't mean you didn't know my thoughts on Lily. Now," she continued unapologetically, "You will be a couple the wizarding world has not seen in centuries. And who knows, perhaps even the unimaginable could happen, if you nurture your magic right."

His gaze was warm, raw and curiously open. "You think it could be possible?"

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps. In time, and when certain…" she cleared her throat, "…other intimacies come to pass between you two… yes, I believe you could entertain the idea."

He staggered from the force of the information just given to him. The topic discussed was something he'd thought about before, and he knew that Molly was the only person with whom he could talk about it. For her to bring up the subject herself was a blessing—albeit one that pushed him almost beyond his comfort zone. But only _almost,_ for Molly was after all his very secret and very dear friend and confidante.

"Now, Severus, before you consider sharing your magic with her, remember that it is a point of no return. But," she smiled fondly, "I suspect you are already past that point as it is."

He gave her a small smile in affirmation.

She pulled him into a hug. Had anyone witnessed it, they'd have thought they were dreaming. Severus returned the embrace gently, and though brief, it reminded the two friends of just how long-standing and deep their connections were.

"Now, let's pay those miscreants of mine a visit, shall we?" she said, shaking off the mist in her eyes and focusing on their main problem. "Remember, you can't tie them in a wand oath to obey you if they're dead, and I know you've been itching to get your hands on their brains for years. Now is your chance. They will never know what hit them, and in the end, you will all profit from this..." she drawled deliberately, "incident."

"Saved by the cunning and slightly vindictive words of their mother... Molly, I didn't think you had it in you."

She smiled innocently, eyes dancing. "Mother knows best."


	31. No potions needed

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note**: A big thank you to all who comment, follow and favourite this story. It is yet again been made so much better with the devoted attention of my wonderful beta dancesabove. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30<strong>

**No potions needed**

In hindsight, it was probably better that his original scheme for proposing marriage had failed so horribly. It was truly a washed-out plan—one comprising every single predictable detail Muggle movies boasted about. It was pretty, yes, and romantic, but it was completely off-kilter for _him_. He probably would have botched the evening with his nervousness alone.

Now he found himself in a different difficulty. Hermione was still unaware of the real reason their home had been flocked by hundreds of women last week, but definitely was sniffing out a trail. She stood now in the middle of their bedroom in what he thought of as her "bossy Hermione pose," her hands on her hips and head tilted to one side in question.

"Severus, I am going to find out eventually, and really, what can be so horrible you can't tell me about it?" she interrogated, piercing him with her gimlet eye.

He let out a laboured breath and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the wet towel from his hair fall to the floor beside him.

"It's not horrible, it's just not something I wish to discuss here and now," he said simply, dragging his fingers through his hair as he tried to untangle it.

She changed tactics and walked slowly over until she was standing in front of him, blocking his view of everything but her midriff, currently clad in a knee-length cotton pinstriped summer dress that served as nightgown.

May was almost at its end and summer temperatures were upon them. Hermione snuck her hands into his hair, shooing his own fingers away from the mess they were making. Slowly drawing lines over his scalp as she detangled the wet tresses, she gave him just enough time to relax in silence.

A triumphant smile played on her lips as she felt his shoulders slacken, and a moment later his arms found their place at her waist, his forehead touching her belly as he leaned in.

"You are not playing fair, and I am aware of what you're doing," he mumbled against the thin fabric covering her waist.

Her answer was to lean in and let her fingers wander down his bare back.

He moaned, but she was pretty sure it was not in protest. He leaned back until his eyes met hers. There was a question in them, and her encouraging smile answered it quite plainly.

Yes, she wanted to play this evening. She wanted to enjoy him, and there was no man on earth capable of resisting a woman when she looked at him the way Hermione was looking at him now.

He moved his hands further up as she slid hers to reach his shoulders. With a raised eyebrow, she paused him in his journey to her breasts.

"Before this gets too distracting, just answer me this one question. Were Fred and George behind it?"

He grunted his surrender as his arms fell to his sides, then pushed himself off the bed, picking up the nearly forgotten towel on the floor.

"Those two dimwits have Merlin's best luck in the world that their mother saved them from a slow and painful death," he said as he walked to the adjoining bathroom.

She squealed in delight. "I knew it! It positively reeked of a Weasley prank!"

He returned to the bedroom with a facial expression showing her he was not sharing her light-hearted enthusiasm.

"Oh, don't look so dour, my dear," she cooed as she sauntered over to him and placed her hands on his hips. "Now..."

He pulled her to him and kissed her suddenly, deeply. His tongue didn't ask for permission as it roamed her mouth, and his hands were completely unapologetic as they caressed her back and slid down to cup her ass.

At her throaty moan he pulled slightly away to suck in a breath, then moved swiftly back into his mission of distracting her from her trail of thought.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she sagged against him, completely taken by the power that was Severus Snape.

Through ragged breaths and more than a moderate level of control, he rasped into her ear, "I really don't want to talk about the Weasleys right now."

He tried to return to the sweet place his mouth had been occupying just now, but she was faster than he was this time, placing one fingertip onto his lips; lifting her head to search his eyes.

"You will not distract me," she said with playful firmness, and he answered by sucking her finger into his mouth.

Her eyes closed and her head fell back as she inhaled sharply. "Severus..."

His arm still wrapped around her waist, he had full control of this situation. He knew he could distract her if he really wanted to. But he also knew his witch and her curiosity. If they were to have a most enjoyable evening in bed, he was better off assuaging her with the details—at least some of them.

"All right," he murmured, gently but reluctantly bumping her finger from his lips. "But..." and at this his embrace tightened, "..._after _we are done discussing those cretins..."

He left an impatient hand in the air, and she clasped it instantly, calmly pushing it down to his side. She growled softly in his ear, "After we're done, you shall be rewarded for your patience."

She met his eyes briefly before leaning in and capturing his lips in a long, languid kiss, deepening it without rushing.

Finally, and with obvious unwillingness, they parted. She stepped away and he took her hand, steering her towards the sofa beneath the window.

Sitting on her legs in one corner, she was positively giddy with excitement. She'd been going mad trying to figure out what had caused the curious and fevered worship of her partner. Not that she minded the idea; after all, _she_ loved him deeply, but the sight would be infuriating, were it not so ridiculous.

Severus was obviously livid, and so far had refused to share with her his discovery of the culprits, although he'd obviously identified them.

She had a fair idea the twins were behind it, but she could not figure out their motive. After all, to play such a prank on Severus without being heavily provoked was simply not their style.

"Ask away," he said with resignation as he settled down on the opposite side of the sofa.

She analyzed him for a moment. He was trying to appear nonchalant even in the midst of his righteous anger, but there yet another quality at play. He really didn't want to tell her a part of this story, and from the slack bend of his head and the twitch of his eyes, she deduced he was ashamed of something. She would never permit him to fall into that trap, and now became even more determined to discover the whole truth.

"I have a theory, so I'll share that first," she said, and he laughed.

"Of course you do. I wouldn't expect anything less of you," he said, irritation slowly seeping away from him. He'd obviously made peace with his fate.

"So, Fred and George are behind it. Just as I suspected. There are only a handful of people who could do something to cause more than a hundred women to think themselves hopelessly in love with you. I would give them credit for their fine taste in men were they acting on their own accord, but as that was probably not the case…?" She paused for confirmation, and he nodded."Yes, since that was not the case, I won't bestow that compliment. So… because it was so massive, and Fred and George are not dabbling in Dark Magic, I would say that this was not their intended result. Even if they intended to Imperio a mass of people, they would hardly send them onto you. You've done nothing to warrant such a prank."

"You are so far correct, not that the unintentionality excuses them," he huffed in anger.

"So they'd obviously muddled up something, and they muddled up on a grand scale," she concluded. Then her shoulders sagged. "But I can't wrap my mind around what that is."

He smiled at her irritated disappointment. But she was not party to enough of the details to get closer to the goal. He decided to help her out.

"OK, love," he leaned in," I see you, and I know you well. You can figure this out with a bit of assistance," he said fondly, and her eyes once again shone with glee.

She laughed softly. "I love you. You were so unwilling to share this with me just a few moments ago, and now you want to play?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "You are correct. You would have found out about it eventually, and what better way to indulge you than this?" He returned her smile. She was really something, his Hermione. Her energy was contagious, and he drank from it like the fountain of youth that it was.

She straightened in her seat, causing her short dress to ride up, and his eyes instantly fell on her milky thighs.

"Severus!" she protested with amusement, as she noticed his gaze focusing on her legs rather than this little game of wits they were playing.

"You can't blame me for getting distracted by you," he said, a smile again hovering on his lips.

He was so beautiful, and when he smiled like that, almost unaware that he was smiling, he was utterly irresistible to her. "No, I can't" she admitted. "But I really want to know, and I love the way you decided to let me figure it out."

He nodded and refocused his attention on her face. He was enjoying this, really, putting her brilliant mind to work.

"You are correct that it was not intentional. They did not plan a prank. It was an accident that latched itself to me. Now, what could have been the administrative?" he asked, and could fairly hear the wheels turning in her head.

"It had to have been a widely administered spell that focused onto... but no, it _couldn't _have been, because there is no spell that could turn them all to the same subject... it had to have been something else..."

"How did they behave?" He led her on with another clue.

"They were acting like love-struck teenagers. But it could not have been a love potion… although that was the first idea that popped into my head when it all started happening," she mused.

He quirked his lip. "And why could it not be a love potion?"

"Because of the same problem I keep stumbling on. It all makes sense until I try to figure out how they all managed to become afflicted with the same... whatever it was," she huffed in frustration.

He chuckled. "A plausible frustration factor, I agree," he said calmly.

"It really angers me silly, because I _know_ there is more to it, yet I can't figure it out. _You_ obviously have, judging by the smug look on your face," she said with mock crossness.

"You wound me, Madam," he joked. "I figured it out only because I am in possession of the key piece of information neither you nor the wretched duo has at your disposal."

She threw her arms in the air. "I give up. Just tell me."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Silence.

"OK, then," she finally said. "I need more information."

"Let's work around the potion, and why you think it couldn't have happened."

"They did sell a lot of Amortentia this week, so that was my first thought…but there was no way they could have keyed it to you. They wouldn't do it deliberately, and there was no way they could have done it by accident."

"Was there not?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She frowned. "OK. How?"

"Tell me the final stage of Amortentia," he prompted, fairly certain she still remembered the formula.

She didn't disappoint him; she remembered the solidification spell.

"They tampered with the spell?" she asked, and he nodded. "But how it rebounded onto you..." she was muttering to herself now, her brain getting more and more engaged and her eyes sparkling with the most welcoming brainstorm. She was a marvellous sight to behold. "The solidification spell comes at the end of the process, the end of the process..." She kept repeating the phrase, and he leaned in encouragingly, knowing she was a breath away from figuring it out.

She stopped suddenly, and raised her head slowly to meet his eyes. Her look was full of disbelief, wonder and awe.

"Impossible," she said slowly, but then cocked her head to the side. "Isn't it?"

"You'll have to share your findings with me if I am to confirm or deny it," he said matter-of-factly, keeping his true reaction in check. He was reminded of his real reason for not readily sharing this knowledge with her. When she found out he was the patent holder for Amortentia, she would need two seconds to figure out why. That was where the shame unmistakably had kicked in every time he'd been on the verge of telling her about this during the previous days.

"The end of the process has two parts. One is the spell, and the other is a runic chant. What most don't know, when creating the potion..." she paused, her voice thinning, her eyes riveted to his, "... because it really doesn't affect the result..."

He nodded slowly for her to continue.

Hermione's eyes fixed on a distant point in the room as she went on, "... is that the runic chant is magical in itself. But runic magic is never used in potion making!"

"Does it mean it _cannot_ be used?" he asked softly.

"Well, obviously not, but... right, so the chant is imbibed with runic magic."

"It is."

"OK, so they obviously tried some spell or potion ingredient…no… it's not an ingredient, it would not react with the runic magic…it can only react to itself." Her eyes became huge. "They dabbled in runic magic for a potion that already had a runic chant in it?! The idiots!" she exclaimed, when he confirmed her findings with another nod.

"I can see why you are so angry now! Those women are lucky they are alive," she exclaimed, and Severus muttered a fresh insult to the already verbally abused objects of their conversation.

"So they changed the potion, or tried to, by using runic magic to, I suppose, enhance a feature." She thought for a moment, her eyes searching his for a final clue.

"What does the runic magic most often hold?" he asked her.

"Focus. Runic magic is used to focus the spell."

Her fingertips itched. Energy hummed in the pit of her belly. She knew she could figure this out. "So, the magic focused the solidification spell, but unbeknownst to George and Fred, it also bumped into the magic in the chant."

"Correct."

"But the chant itself is neutral, unless..."

She stopped again, and this time he knew she had it. "There was something in the chant, something that's hidden, but left as a marker, a property stamp... and it leads to you?"

"Yes."

"But it could only lead to you if you were... OH MY GOD!"

Her eyes were wider than he had ever seen them. _"You?"_

He nodded, and the shame he'd suppressed started to emerge. His eyes found great interest in a non-existent piece of lint on his pyjama pants.

"Severus, look at me," she said firmly.

He looked at her, and there was no judgment in his eyes. "I know it's trivial."

"Trivial? Severus, don't be daft," she said scornfully. But she needed a clear answer. "Are you the patent holder and creator of the currently approved version of Amortentia?"

He closed his eyes, the self-reproach growing. "I am."

Silence. He was met by silence. After a while, he dared to open his eyes, only to find his witch gaping at him with shock on her face.

"Hermione?"

Silence.

"Darling?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry... I am a bit... stunned. That is... that is just so unexpected," she answered quietly, regaining her concentration. "Wow... just... wow."

As Hermione was obviously in need of more time to regain her senses, Severus offered the summary of the situation. She nodded in understanding, her eyes still shining in wonder at the greatness of the man sitting in front of her.

His eyes were cast down as he finished, "... so the magic they tried to connect to the potion reacted to my signature in the chant, and all the witches that came in contact with or imbibed the potion made from that batch focused their romantic intentions on me. You can see now why I couldn't tell you," he finished, his voice revealing acute discomfort.

"We are filthy rich, aren't we?" she stated more than asked, coming out of her haze.

He laughed. "After all I've told you, that is the first thing you choose to comment upon?"

She peered at him. "Severus, I don't understand why this is making you uncomfortable."

He sighed. "No, you wouldn't." He met her eyes and braced himself.

"I created this potion when I was fourteen," he said, embarrassment cloaking his words as clearly as he enunciated them.

"You really are super-human," she said, still in awe. "Fourteen… Severus that is _unheard of_ at such a young age, you should be proud of it..."

"Hermione, this is painful enough to tell you. Think, I beg of you!" he entreated, agitated.

It took only a moment for the last pieces of the puzzle to fall into place for her. She looked at him then and saw the reason for the shame he obviously felt. She saw the way his eyes dimmed and his whole body slumped. Her poor, poor boy. Her beautiful man… her Severus.

She took his hands in hers, both of his palms facing upwards, and she brought them one by one to her lips to press a loving kiss into each.

"You were in love with Lily then," she said, refusing to let go of his hands as she spoke, despite his gentle tug to free himself. They needed to touch, he needed her touch, although he probably was unaware of it.

Hermione knew it—for in moments when her own shame was overpowering, it was his touch that pulled her up, even more than his words.

"So you created the modification of Amortentia to make her realize she also was in love with you," she continued. He nodded.

"Love, I shall ask you, although I am already certain you did not, but: did you give her the potion?"

He gazed at her. "No."

"Did you trick her into drinking it, in any way?"

"No," he answered again.

"Then why the shame? You did nothing wrong. If anything, the last modification to the potion with the addition of scents was brilliant, precisely in the way it opened the mind without taking away the free will of the imbiber. Of course, after ingestion, things did change, but that was in the core of the potion, and hardly your responsibility."

"I... it was pretty pitiful of me to resort to such methods to make her realize she had feelings for me," he said, his voice vulnerable and weak.

She pressed his palms more firmly, and he looked up into her eyes. "Pitiful? Severus, it was not pitiful. It was amazing. It was the workings of the brilliant mind of a teenage boy who had the wherewithal to create this complicated potion and offer his loved one a choice to connect her feelings with her thoughts, without force."

"You are glorifying what was a desperate attempt to make a dream come to life," Severus whispered, still wary of discussing his love for Lily with Hermione.

She was having none of it.

"Tell me, what did she smell? Did she smell you?"

His eyes drifted to the night sky as he spoke softly. "She smelled daisies, creek water on a hot summer day and old coats."

Hermione's heart broke, and she moved into his arms. She snuggled close into his chest and enveloped him tightly in her arms.

For a long time they stayed like that, stretched awkwardly and not caring, silently accepting this new situation, the old truths having been spoken for the first time.

* * *

><p>"Did she realize it?" she asked tenderly after a while, her head nuzzling the underside of his neck. "Did she know what it meant?"<p>

His answer was pained and it took him some time to verbalize it. "It consoled me that she'd felt something for me, but she never acted upon her realization, even if she did figure out what it meant. For a while I wondered, but then it all went to hell and there was no return," he finished, holding her tighter against him. "Now you see why I didn't want to share this with you."

"I see your point, but it doesn't mean you were right in your assumption, you know," she answered him. "I find no fault in your actions, and I am again reminded what an extraordinary man you are. I am lucky to hold you in my arms, and I will not let you forget any of the above," she stated resolutely.

She sat back a bit and pulled him to a sitting position as well. With a calculated smile, she focused on his lips. "Now, I will follow with bated breath the revenge scenario I have no doubt is already in the works for Fred and George!"

"I have Molly in my corner, just so you know," he said, eyes now shining in gleeful anticipation.

She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a most unladylike chortle. "Molly?! Oh my... I almost feel sorry for them. But they have it coming. At least they..."she glanced at his eyes for affirmation, and his now-unworried eyes said, 'yes'. "...At least they had the good sense to undo the damage. I presume they were the ones who finally distributed the antidote to the flock of your admirers on the street outside?"

"They did, and I paired it with a carefully aimed partial Obliviate with each dose ingested. Disillusioned, naturally. Every one of those women now knows she was present in the square, and every one of them thinks it was because she was a passer-by observing the others. It was the best I could do to leave it plausible. _The Prophet_ did headline the wretched mishap for three days straight. I could not risk the inconsistencies that would have resulted from a complete Obliviate."

She regaled him with a smile of pure adoration. "So I have you all to myself," she said dreamily. At the small frown etched into his brow, she added, "You really have no idea how good a man you are, have you?"

With that, she stood up and pulled him with her. "Let's go to bed," she said, again giving him the look that told him clearly she had no plans of sleeping yet.

He shivered at the tone of her voice, following her those few short steps until they reached their plush destination. She pushed him gently down and crawled slowly over him until her breath was close enough to tickle the small hairs on his neck.

"Severus, whatever shall I do with you?"

It was very clear to both of then that, at this precise moment, she could do whatever she liked.

And she did. Elaborately. Until he could hardly remember that there was a time he was ashamed of loving a girl. Until he could hardly remember anything but the beautiful woman in his arms. Enchanted, under the influence of nothing else but her intoxicating presence, he relinquished control over those hidden parts of his soul to this marvellous witch in his arms.

No potions needed.


	32. WWW's first day in school

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you all for the lovely comments and ongoing interest in this story, and to my beta dancesabove for making it better yet again.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 31<strong>

**WWW's first day at school**

"Wands out... now," he said in his most memorable Potions Master and Hogwarts professor tone of voice.

Fred had the decency to shiver, and that was saying something.

The redhead exchanged a furtive glance with his twin, who then peered at the stern face of their mother.

With the tips of their wands they touched the seemingly innocent piece of parchment that was about to seal their fate for the next three years.

Severus, inwardly gloating but showing no signs of a reaction, pleased or otherwise, pulled his elegant wand from its sleeve holder and joined the younger men in their gesture.

"Molly, if you would do the honours," Severus intoned, and the witch stepped forward.

The sun shone through the stained glass windows of the offices of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, indicating the late afternoon hour. The witches and wizards that rushed by below on Diagon Alley could not even imagine the scenario taking place.

"To be betrayed by your mother... blasphemy," George muttered, to which Molly simply smiled.

"You boys will kiss the ground beneath my feet at the end of your apprenticeship. I daresay it is the best thing that could have happened to you," she added, almost chortling at Severus's raised eyebrow.

"Mum, we'll do anything, please… just not _this,_" Fred threw in as a last-ditch effort, and Severus scoffed. This was simply priceless, although he'd admittedly had his doubts about the grand scheme Molly and he concocted as the ultimate revenge upon—and reformation for—her unruly sons.

Molly cleared her throat and intoned calmly, the Latin flowing from her lips as smoothly as ever, and with each new wave of her wand over the joined wands and parchment, her own magic imbued the page as the final warranty. There was a cloud of protective magic rising and wrapping around each wand, the sparks not dissimilar to the wisps of a patronus. As she set the final ward sealing the document, a loosely braided string of silver and gold ran from her wand and wrapped around each wand-holding wrist, then dissolved into thin air as if it had never been there. The binding was performed gently and gracefully. Severus nodded in thanks for her kind gesture.

"There, all set," she said with a Mona Lisa smile, and she was back again in her normal Molly persona before they could bat an eyelash.

The boys looked at their mother in wonder. "That was..." George sputtered, his eyes wide.

"Impressive," Fred emphatically finished his trail of thought.

"Thank you, Molly. I hope I do not live to regret it," Severus said quietly. She patted him gently on the shoulder.

"Nonsense, Severus. I know this is an itch you've been dying to scratch for years," she said matter-of-factly, not missing a beat when her sons gasped in surprise.

Turning to them, she said archly, "Now, you are aware that this is for your own good? You are also aware that the contract for which I've just served as binder also ties you into a vow of secrecy regarding all professional information you are about to receive from your mentor. The contract is 'bullet-proof,' as the Muggles would say. And don't worry; I threw in a protection charm for good measure. So if matters ever get too intense, you will be reminded that this was all done in good will, and for the benefit of all present."

"Severus," she turned now to him, "you are a brave man. I am sure you will handle them marvellously."

He nodded his head in agreement. "Thank you for doing the binding. It really could only be, as you said, 'bullet-proof,'" he paused with a pointed look at his new protégés, "if a blood-tied witch or wizard performed it."

Another gasp from Fred and George.

Severus smirked.

"We're doomed," Fred sighed.

"Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother," George whined his famous line, the one he used whenever he wanted to guilt his mother into relenting to his latest scheme.

She laughed heartily.

"Yes, I do. With pride, my boys, with pride!" She tapped the contract and produced a copy of it. "This is for the family vault at Gringotts."

"Give my regards to Arthur," Severus said, holding her overcoat for her. The day had been unusually chilly.

"I shall, I shall," she nodded. "Fred, George; remember, I am on _his_ side in this one," she said firmly. She reached up to press a loving kiss to each young man's temple. "Be good, and don't anger him much. 'Cause if you do, you'll have bigger worries than _my_ mood."

The twins shared a look. "Hermione," they said in unison, and Molly tapped them on their cheeks.

"See you at supper!"

And she was gone with a happy twirl. She was thoroughly enjoying the boys getting their just desserts and the opportunity of a lifetime in one blow. Proud of herself for her role in this situation, she fairly danced down Diagon Alley, stopping at Madame Malkin's for a new hat. A witch had to treat herself once in a while.

Back up in the WWW offices, Severus crossed his arms over his chest, his stance easing somewhat.

"Now that we are clear that everything said in a professional context is to be completely protected from slipping to the general knowledge, let's begin with a chat. Oh, and by the way, as a laboratory and an office are professional locations added to our contract, _everything_ said in them will be considered to be in a professional context."

He watched the colour drain from the twins' faces.

"But... that's..."

"Cheating? Slytherin of me?" Severus offered.

"Yes, all of that," George said with a wave of his finger. "You... tricked us."

"Absolutely. I had to protect you as well as myself. This, as your mother said, was my idea as much as it was hers."

"You're serious?" George gawked at the man as if he'd grown a second head. "You really want to apprentice us?"

"Naturally. I would not be here otherwise," Severus answered him calmly. "Mr. Weasley, and," he nodded to Fred, "Mr. Weasley, your brains were neglected for too long, your talent falling into abysmally unprofessional hands. However…" he paused, letting all of that sink in, "you possess great talent. The incident last week confirmed it, albeit in a most unfortunate way. In a sense, the runic magic you were able to perform tipped the scales in your favour with me. It is, I begrudgingly admit, a rather impressive feat."

George and Fred slowly moved their shocked expressions from Snape to each other. A long moment passed in complete silence. Severus would learn to appreciate those rather too soon.

"He likes us! I told you he likes us!" Fred exclaimed, bumping chests with George. The lanky men hugged and did a happy dance, much to the chagrin of their brooding and unwilling audience of one.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not going to be a walk in the park.

"How are we to address you?" George asked, slipping into a more mature mode. He was always the more subdued one.

"Severus."

"You're joking?" Fred asked.

"When have you ever heard me joke before?" the serious wizard asked with a raised eyebrow. "You will call me Severus, and I shall call you by your given names as well. 'Mr. Weasley' will get too old too soon, and I do not wish to be called 'Master' in this nightmare or any other," he declared.

"Severus?" Fred asked, testing the name. It felt strange. He felt honoured to be able to call this great wizard by his name. Said great wizard noticed it, but hid his small smile expertly.

"Yes, Frederic?"

George fell over himself. Fred looked green around the gills.

"Oh, Merlin Almighty, and you said you don't _joke,_" Fred said as colour returned to his face.

"I said no such thing. I said you haven't heard me joke before. There _is_ a difference. Pay attention to detail, Frederic, or we'll have more incidents like the last one, and," he regarded them with thunderclouds in his eyes, "I do not wish a reprise of the event."

"Okay, okay… I have a question. How exactly did we manage to point the focus on you with the Amortentia?"

"It is simple. I hold the patent to Amortentia. You pointed the focus on my signature."

The twins were on their knees in worship the next moment. Severus sighed, rolling his eyes. "Get up, you nitwits. We have plans to make."

"Whatever you say, Your Majesty," George said with awe as they followed him into the laboratories. Severus sighed. Score for them; he should have more definitely stated the rules of address. The devil is always in the fine print. He quirked his lip. This was going to be exactly what he'd expected it to be.

* * *

><p>Returning home that evening, Severus sauntered into the kitchen with a bouquet of yellow tulips for his witch.<p>

He smiled at her sweet words of welcome and kissed her softly before presenting her with the flowers.

"_You're_ in a good mood this evening," she observed, caressing the corner of his lip with the tip of her finger. He kissed the finger before turning to take off his coat.

She watched him move about and a huge smile blossomed on her face. He was as happy as a well-tuned fiddle, she thought. Why, he could barely contain the glee in his step! It was surreal.

"Not that I am complaining, mind, but you _will _share the reason for this absolutely fantastic mood you seem to be in."

"Umm-hmm," he murmured in consent as he pulled her into his arms. "After dinner."

"I made arugula salad with parmesan shavings, and pizza is on the way," she said with a chuckle.

"Lovely," he replied in his most velvet tone, and kissed her again.

The doorbell rang and the still-bemused Hermione went to answer the door and take the delivery.

He put the flowers in water while she took care of the food prep, such as it was.

She stood in the doorway watching him, more than one question mark above her head. Yes, definitely a new lightness in his entire manner. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my Severus?" she joked as she slipped the pizza from its box onto a large ceramic plate she'd had warming in the oven.

"Come," he said, holding a chair out for her. "I'll tell you everything over dinner."

Hermione watched him in fascination, then laughed and chuckled and guffawed as he conveyed the events of the day to her, together with the master plan he'd concocted with Molly.

"They can't peep a word about anything happening at work, but the spell is fixed only on them, so naturally, it excludes me."

"I am glad of that! Otherwise I would not be enjoying this tale."

"And I couldn't hold back from you that and many more that are surely to come."

"You look really happy," she noted as they finished their meal. "Engaged."

He stared at her in surprise for a moment, but she was just studying her plate as she forked up a bit of arugula, so he had time to realise her meaning, and recover.

She looked up and gave him a glowing smile. "You missed it, didn't you?"

"The work? No," he admitted truthfully. "I did, however, jump wholeheartedly at this opportunity. They are the most magnificent young minds, really. Ill-mannered and with the utmost poor control over their mind-tongue transfers… but still, magnificent."

She smiled fondly at his enthusiasm. "Three years. They will be a force in the business once you've had your way with them."

"I do hope so. The industry lacks good potioneers, and as I already told them today, there'll be no reason to crash an already established public image with a more 'serious' work branch. That's what aliases are for."

"You'll consider going into business together, then?"

He nodded. "If my assumptions prove true, I believe at the end of their second year of 'slavery,' as Frederic so charmingly called it, they will have gained enough expertise to venture into the market."

"Tell me you don't call him 'Frederic' all the time!" she laughed.

One edge of his mouth crept up imperceptibly. "He has been warned of the inevitability of such a threat, were he to misbehave."

"I would pity him, but I think he's having the time of his life," she said. "After all, Frederic is a really pretty name."

* * *

><p>And indeed, Fred had given Severus only a handful of moments that would warrant the full pronunciation of his name, and only on one occasion had Severus reacted to it.<p>

Their time in the laboratories so far had been devoted to revision, but the dour professor the twins remembered was not in evidence. Protected by their apprenticeship contract and assured of their secrecy, he let his guard down and became the teacher he'd always wanted to be. Strict, attentive, inspiring.

In the weeks that followed, rumours emerged from the Burrow (really, Molly was _such _a gossip) that books had been spotted in the previously never-to-be-seem-with-them arms, and that the usage of candles decidedly had grown due to late-night studying of assignments.

Hermione noticed that Severus' initial good mood hadn't abated. Oh, he had arrived home on the odd afternoon spilling insults at the 'cheeky bastards,' but overall she was sure that he was enjoying himself immensely. He'd always had the potential to be a great mentor, and Hermione knew that he finally had worthy subjects—in an era when he could be his true self. It was making her very happy.

At first no one outside the five of them was privy to this new development, and Severus and the twins preferred it that way. True to form, however, one other person was bound to find out. The moment she laid her eyes on "her boy," Minerva knew something was up, and really, resistance was futile when that witch set her mind on finding out the truth.

"Merlin save me, the day has come: Hell froze over!" she exclaimed upon hearing the news. "I have trouble enough with their products at school, without them having the country's best potioneer as their mentor!"

Hermione smiled indulgently. "Don't say that. He loves it. You should see him when he comes home—it's a marvel to behold," Hermione said lovingly.

Minerva huffed. "Oh, I guess it _is_ a great combination, but seriously, I am getting a headache even as I _imagine_ the beginning of the next school year," the Headmistress declaimed dramatically.

"Have the children left the school yet?" Hermione asked carefully, her hands holding her teacup a bit more firmly.

"Next week is their last. Were you..." she paused, observing the young woman. "Are you considering coming to visit?"

"We... I am, but the crowds terrify me. It's so much; it will be too much for me, and Severus, as well... I would rather avoid the hubbub, if possible."

"Then come this weekend. Most of the children will be in Hogsmeade on their last trip before the end of the school year, and I can always disillusion you if you really do not wish to be seen… but I am sure the castle would protect you, even if I didn't lift a finger."

Hermione was pensive. "I am not sure it will recognize me now," her voice was soft and broke slightly as she spoke.

"Nonsense," Minerva brushed that notion off. "Not recognize you? The old thing is sentient, you know. Its feelings might be seriously hurt by such lack of trust in its memory."

It drew a small smile out of Hermione to hear Minerva speak of the castle as a living being. After all, it was very close to.

"I will talk with Severus about it, but I believe we could come this weekend."

The older witch looked at the young woman and tears glistened in her eyes. "I am so proud of you, Hermione." She leaned closer and placed a comforting palm over the witch's arm. "It is time. Hogwarts will be honoured to have you. Everything will be all right."

"I hope so," Hermione answered tentatively. "I hope so."


	33. Karl

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note:** Thank you all for the wonderful comments and interest in this story, and to my beta dancesabove - thank you again and again for making this story better.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 32<strong>

**Karl**

"Karl," Minerva called, whereupon a small elf with an unusual name and an even more unusual attitude appeared, his stance calm and confident. "Hello, Karl. How are you today?"

"Very well, Headmistress. How are you?" he returned politely.

"Excellent. I have a most important mission for you, Karl. Hogwarts will be having guests this weekend. One of them is a very vulnerable and significant woman. You have been chosen, for you are as special as the woman who shall be entrusted into your protection."

His little chest puffed out with momentousness. "Karl is eager to serve Hogwarts on such an important mission. Who is Karl going to be protecting?"

"Hermione Granger."

His little lip quivered as his eyes grew impossibly large. "Headmistress, you..." his head bowed to the floor. "You wish Karl to keep guard of the great Hermione Granger?"

"Exactly," Minerva said, sure of her choice. Karl was a very special elf indeed. The younger son of Winky the garden elf, Karl had inherited the very special bloodline of guardian elves through his paternal side. As such, he was calmer in character and more prone to accept his value. Really, a perfect choice for the war heroine in need of a little assistance. "Now, are you aware of the particular change in Ms. Granger's magical signature?"

The elf nodded his head. "We know. All of the elves have followed the news about her. I was told great stories by my mother and father." He sighed with admiration."She is a great witch."

Minerva smiled. "She is. But she will need you more than she may realize now. She had been living mostly in the Muggle world."

Karl nodded. "I understand, Headmistress. I shall prepare for her arrival. Is Headmistress in need of anything else?"

"Yes. I have another question for you, Karl. Would you feel up to going on a little 'exploratory trip'?"

He smiled. "Headmistress knows that a guardian elf does not spy on his human."

"I was thinking more along the lines of an informal introduction to her, before her arrival here." She chuckled at the way his ears turned slightly pink in embarrassment. The way he'd referred to Hermione as 'his' human hadn't escaped her notice.

"Karl would be honoured if Headmistress introduced Karl to Ms Hermione Granger."

"Splendid. We shall visit her tomorrow. It is Friday, and she will be arriving the day after."

"Yes, Headmistress."

"Thank you, Karl."

The elf popped out of the room and the old woman sighed deeply, settling into her armchair.

"You know better than to trick a guardian elf into spying. He is not daft."

"Do shut up, Albus," Minerva huffed, waving her hand at the portrait.

"Minerva, did you speak to him?" Albus asked his usual question.

Again, she sighed. "I did. He is well. Happy. They both are. And before you ask me..." she paused, sadness overwhelming her, "... he won't speak to you. He still hasn't let go of his anger at you. With good reason," she added, her eyes finding the portrait's. "Be patient, Albus. It's not as if you haven't the time to be," she smiled wryly, casting a Tempus charm. "Oh, dear, I have to go meet with Pomona. Excuse me, will you?"

The old Headmaster waved her off with an uninterested smile. A moment later he dozed off.

* * *

><p>Next morning dawned peacefully in the Granger-Snape household. Hermione stretched next to the thoroughly asleep figure of her Severus, then frowned at the time. She was not usually one to wake up this early, but she understood the reasons. She'd been sleeping fitfully all week in anticipation of their visit to Hogwarts. Her staccato dreams worried Severus crazy for the first two nights, making him think she was relapsing into her by-now-mostly-gone night terrors. It had now been so long since she'd had her last serious nightmare, and he was relieved that her thin sleep was caused by the visit and nothing else.<p>

In truth, she was dreading it as much as she was anticipating it. She'd packed and unpacked her weekend bag thrice so far.

She huffed as she sat up, making peace with the fact that sleep was not going to happen. Perhaps a warm shower would help. God knows even Severus couldn't calm her nerves anymore, although he did try his best last night. She smiled fondly at the memory of his attentions. _I really have the best wizard in the world…_

Tiptoeing across the floor, she made her way to the bathroom, shedding her nightgown before she reached the shower. Stepping in the comfortable warmth of the cascading water, she leaned her back on the pebbled wall separating her from the rest of the world and tried not to think. She was tired of thinking, of planning, of imagining the scenarios. It is what it is, and it will be what it will be, and despite the ever-increasing doubts about this weekend, she was determined to go through with it.

Always the brave one.

Severus sat up in bed, having woken upon stretching into her cool side of it. Through the cracked-open door of the bathroom he could hear the shower running. It was not even 6:00 a.m. He frowned.

Even though it had been a very long time, a part of him shook with the possibility of encountering her slumped on the shower floor, as he'd been known to in the past. His gut clenched. _Perhaps this weekend is not the best idea._

The shower stopped and he breathed a sigh of relief. He got up and entered the bathroom just as she finished wrapping her hair in a plush white towel.

She gave him a smile. "Did I wake you?" she asked, as he reached her and placed a comforting arm on her waist.

"No," he rasped, his voice still heavy with sleep. "The absence of you woke me," he told her. Touched, she caressed his cheek.

He turned to the sink and splashed some water on his sleep-addled face. With a few more wandless basic grooming spells he was feeling much better, and far more awake. Lifting his head up from the wash basin, he encountered her eyes in the mirror, following as they were the movements of his morning routine.

She was combing her fingers through her wet curls, trying to untangle them, and huffing in frustration at their resistance.

He turned and reached for her. "May I?" he asked softly. He always checked with her about whether she would be comfortable with magic.

"Please!" she answered enthusiastically, "I'm not in the mood for a long blow-dry this morning." Hermione sighed in relaxation as his own fingers snuck up and around her scalp. He murmured as he drew his hands through her hair, detangling it curl by curl, leaving a dry silken cascade in his wake. He repeated the motion, not out of necessity, but for pure selfish pleasure. He loved it when she let him dry her hair with magic. He'd even worked on a particular spell sequence designed for her hair type—not that he would ever admit to it outside their privacy.

"You know, we can postpone the trip," he said quietly as their eyes met. She didn't look well. She was obviously tired, her eyes carrying the evidence of a few restless nights, along with a deeper worry lying hidden in her irises.

"No," she shook her head to underline her thought. "I am like this whenever something out of the ordinary is upon me. I will be all right." She smiled almost shyly. "You will be next to me, and there is no one I feel safer with," she said, taking his hand in hers.

"Minerva owled last night," he told her. "You had gone to bed and I didn't have the heart to wake you, considering how badly you've slept recently."

She nodded in understanding, at the same time encouraging him to continue.

"She will stop by later this morning with a special present."

"What is it?"

He smiled. "I'll tell you over breakfast."

When she pulled him almost to the door, he smiled, stopping her progress. "Getting caught in our pyjamas once was quite enough. If we let it happen twice, we'll never hear the end of it," he said with a laugh. "Let's dress first."

She sighed, gazing at his chest longingly as she followed him across the room.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later they were enjoying their tea and toast, and Severus showed her Minerva's letter.<p>

"An elf?" Hermione exclaimed in wonder. "She wants to give me an elf?"

"Read on," he encouraged her, taking another sip of his tea.

"Oh, a _guardian_ elf," her next comment was much more subdued in comparison to her reaction a moment before. "But still, Severus, I am not so sure about it," she voiced her doubts.

He took her hand across the table. "Guardian elves are special. I know your opinion about elves, but I would advise you to give it a thought before you discard the idea. It is a rather brilliant suggestion," he explained. "Almost makes me jealous for not having thought up the idea myself."

Hermione didn't look convinced. "I don't need a servant," she said, a note of petulance carrying over her protest. It was a tender topic, he understood.

"Fortunately, you will not be getting a servant. You don't have to accept the suggestion, but at least _meet _the creature," he implored. This was very well the best suggestion he'd heard in a long while. If things worked out positively, it could mean a significant change for the better in her life. _Of course, she can't know that yet._

"Karl," Hermione read on. "Severus, I will meet him, but beyond that, I won't make any promises."

Severus flashed an understanding smile, giving the hand in his a comforting stroke. "That's perfectly acceptable."

She sat in their living room, nursing her second cup of tea and staring absentmindedly into the distance. She had to admit that an elf would be of great assistance in the magical world. The thing was, she didn't miss the magical world. Well... to say that would be a lie, for she refused to _think _about the magical world, thus not giving herself the chance to miss it. But she was going to Hogwarts, and it was foolish of her to think she could maintain the status quo for much longer.

The doorbell rang, and she exhaled slowly.

She heard Severus open the door, then some muted conversation. They were here, then. _Better get on with it._

In the hallway, Severus was greeting Minerva and the small creature holding her hand as they stepped into the Granger-Snape home. The elf was dressed in a midnight-blue pair of trousers and a white cotton shirt, looking positively adorable. The small creature observed him curiously as the humans exchanged their greetings.

"Good morning, my boy," Minerva greeted him. "It was good news to receive your patronus this morning. I am glad she is aware of our arrival." Severus smiled.

"She has her doubts," he warned, then, noticing the alarmed expression on the elf's face, he added, "Nothing to do with you." Severus inclined his head in respect to the elf. "I am happy to have you as a guest in my home, Karl. I hope you can be of assistance to Hermione. Please be patient; she has a few misconceptions about elves," he laughed, and the elf nodded calmly.

"Don't worry, Headmaster, Karl will do his best to inform her of his tasks."

Severus flinched at the sound of the nomen. He hadn't heard it in a few years, and in the year he'd been called that, it was not a sign of anything good. He tensed, the colour leaving his face.

Karl stepped up in his first of many demonstrations of his uniqueness, and took Severus's hand in his. "Karl sees that his assistance is needed here."

Severus looked at their joined hands, and felt the tension seep out of him.

"Amazing," he whispered, and Minerva smiled smugly.

"Karl is proud to be chosen to protect Hermione Granger and Headmaster Severus. The elves are proud that Karl has been given the honour of guarding the Headmaster and his wife."

Severus raised an eyebrow. Two things struck him like lightning. First, while the small creature held his hand, he no longer felt the discomfort at being called 'headmaster,' and second, he really loved the sound of the word 'wife'.

"We are not married." Severus said almost inaudibly, and the elf looked at him as if he were daft.

"The elves see the world through different eyes. Your magic tells me you have a wife. My magic cannot be wrong," he said simply, as if explaining a basic idea to a child.

Severus squatted down at the eye level of this peculiar elf. "Karl, I again welcome you to my home. I am gratified to offer you hospitality, and _I_ am honoured by _your_ visit."

Minerva clapped her hands in utter happiness. This was just what she had been hoping for. The recognition and acceptance of master and elf was a special bond, and with guardian elves it was they who chose their masters, not the other way around. _One down, one to go. _

"Shall we adjourn to the living room? Hermione is expecting us there," Severus said as he led Minerva further into the house, the elf still holding his hand.

Hermione heard the door open and stood up, turning to behold a most peculiar scene. Severus was walking towards her, holding the hand of a small elf. Minerva followed a step behind, her eyes glistening suspiciously.

"Hermione, may I introduce Karl, the guardian elf?" Severus intoned formally, and the small creature released his hand, stepping forward to bow deeply to Hermione.

She observed the creature, her hand unconsciously squeezing the edge of her shirt.

"Karl is honoured to be presented to Hermione Granger," the elf said breathlessly as he straightened.

"Hello, Karl," she said softly. He was unlike any elf she'd seen so far, and she'd had her fair share of encounters with them in her past. Impeccably dressed, his skin tone light blue rather than grey, and his eyes impossibly radiant, he oozed approachability and he inspired affection. In other words, he was the cutest creature she'd ever seen.

"I hear you are Winky's son. How is your mother?" Hermione asked, earning another bow from the small elf.

"She is well. She spoke many stories to Karl about the heroine Hermione Granger.

She sends her greetings." Karl beamed.

Hermione was shocked. Never before had she encountered an elf speaking so eloquently, and with such confidence. Curious, she stepped closer to him.

"Well... thank you. Be sure to greet her in return when you see her next," she said with a tentative smile, and the elf nodded slowly.

"Shall we have tea?" Severus asked, already turning towards the kitchen.

The look of horror that passed over Karl's face was priceless. "Headmaster will make tea by himself?!"

Hermione almost stumbled in shock. Her surprise was even greater at Severus's chuckle.

"Karl, would it be acceptable to you if the Headmaster" —he raised his eyes to Hermione's shocked orbs, and silently conveyed that he would explain everything later— "offered to greet you with tea and cookies at this, your first visit to his home? It would be a great honour if you agreed."

The elf was extremely uncomfortable, but he nodded, obviously disgruntled. "Karl is likewise honoured, and he accepts," he answered with a shaky voice.

If her jaw could reach the floor, Hermione was sure a thud would have been heard. What _was_ this creature?!

Severus retreated into the kitchen, a happy smile refreshing his features. He felt lighter by a ton, compared to this morning. An invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was going to be all right. Hermione was going to be all right at Hogwarts.

He turned to the sound of Minerva entering the kitchen. She stepped closer to him, a glowing and most satisfied look on her face.

"Minerva," he sighed, "this is..." he stumbled on his words, then, and she touched his face gently. "I don't know how to thank you. This could be the answer to our prayers," he said with a little choke in his voice, letting her see his insecurities.

"I thought it might be the case. I hoped it would be," she added.

Severus looked over the witch's shoulder, tensing. "They are alone?"

"By Hermione's request."

"Oh."

Minerva smiled. "Indeed."

Meanwhile, Hermione sat on one side of the couch while Karl occupied the seat on the other end. They looked at each other in silence, and after a long moment, Karl slid off the cushion, his small feet hitting the plush carpet soundlessly, and walked in front of Hermione. He leaned his head to one side as he continued observing her. Finally, he reached his hand to her and spoke.

"Karl has been born as the first in twenty generations of his line to carry the guardian duty. He sees and knows truths that are old and cannot be spoken of. Karl knew that one day a time would come for him to meet his human, and when Headmistress asked him to guard Hermione Granger, he knew his time to honour his duty had come."

Hermione was speechless. Her eyes fell to the floor. She felt all of her fears float up to the surface.

"Karl, you are mistaken. I am not the witch I used to be." In her voice Karl could hear her bravely fighting tears.

He pushed a small finger under her chin, the action causing him to lift his own head up, for even though she was sitting, she was still taller than he.

The surge of comfort at his touch was instant, and her eyes met his in wonder.

"Does Hermione Granger feel that?" the elf asked calmly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"It is because Hermione Granger's magic is responding to Karl's magic. It accepts the guardianship."

She felt tears pooling in her eyes. "I have no magic!" She nearly sobbed it.

"Karl disagrees," he said.

She was not convinced by his proclamation, but his eyes shone so brightly that it almost made her forget what she was thinking. "How do you know?"

"Karl feels magic differently. It is his gift."

She nodded. "So… tell me, because I don't know how this is supposed to work."

He smiled. "Give me your hands," he said, extending his palms upwards towards her.

She connected her palms with his, laying them flat on the small blue pair.

He closed his eyes, and all Hermione could feel was an overwhelming sense of warmth and comfort. All her tension and worries dissipated, and she observed in awe as a blue mist followed the purely physical feeling, enveloping them both.

Karl's eyes opened, and the light blue sheen softly receded, as gently as it had appeared.

"The pledge has been made," he said. "I have chosen you, and you have accepted me to guard you. You will call me Karl, and I will call you my mistress. You will only have to say my name, and I will answer your call. Karl is honoured and happy more than he ever has been in his life, to finally have found his human. Karl is fulfilling his destiny now."

She could not speak. All she could feel was peace. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Karl?"

"Yes, my mistress?"

"I have never met an elf like you."

"Neither has Karl."


	34. Hogwarts

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**Author's note**: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, for reading and following this story. It has been made better yet again by the wonderful attention of my dear beta Chris. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 33<strong>

**Hogwarts**

Just as Minerva had predicted, the castle was almost empty, as all the students allowed to do so were making their last trip to Hogsmeade before the summer holidays.

She walked calmly to the main gate to welcome her visitors, as its usual guardian, Hagrid, was one of the teachers chaperoning the students. Minerva felt as much excitement as her guests probably were feeling, and unable to keep inside any longer, she decided that some fresh summer Scottish air would do her good.

Headmistress McGonagall inspired quiet respect and soft smiles on the faces of the students she passed on her walk through the castle. With each reverberating step on the ancient stone floors, she remembered their road to recovery after the end of the war. She looked lovingly at the restored arches and staircases, pride and warmth enveloping her as she strode confidently through her home.

It was to be a rather lazy Saturday, a wonderful moment to give Hermione and Severus a more relaxed setting for their visit. She hoped all would go well.

The wards tingled, alerting her to their arrival. Right on cue, Karl appeared beside her, his shirt crisp and freshly ironed. He emanated importance.

Severus had apparated them outside, just beyond the wards, knowing that they would value the time spent privately before they made their presence known. Hermione had wrapped her arms around him and burrowed her head into the crook of his neck for the apparition, and although she was aware that they'd arrived, she was showing no signs of letting go.

He put his arms around her protectively and sighed into her hair. Disillusioning them just in case anyone was on hand to interrupt or rush them, he allowed her time to adjust. In truth, he needed the time himself.

The crisp air filled Hermione's lungs and the memories rushed into her as the familiar scents of the forest touched her nose. She lifted her eyes to Severus' and marvelled at his own onslaught of emotions in them.

"We're here," she whispered, and he nodded, humming gruffly in reply. His voice betrayed him at the sight of her troubled eyes.

She took a deep breath and turned, easing out of his embrace to face the magnificent building, and the way of life represented inside the walls she'd fought so bravely to protect. A symbol of her childhood, a place of such happiness and turmoil, the crime scene of her abduction, and the torch-bearer of hope for the future—Hogwarts stood proud and tall before her eyes.

Tears stumbled down her cheeks silently as she leaned her back into Severus's ever-present body, welcoming the warmth of his arms as they pulled her into him, easing her head into the support of his shoulder as he rested his chin on her curls.

They stood silently watching the castle, soaking in the elements, the colours, the scents. There was no rush, no obligation, no danger.

"I thought it would be different, but it's not," she said quietly. "It's just as it was, as if nothing happened, as if nothing will ever happen to change it. To change this way of life," she added.

"All of the staff and older students vowed to restore it just the way it was. It was their lifeline, to have it back. It was a home to many, and its restoration was probably the most detailed one after the war ended," he told her.

"Were you involved?"

She could feel him nod. "I was called in after they released me from St. Mungo's, as a consultant for the wards. Minerva had already been promoted into Headmistress, but the castle recognized me as well, so it was beneficial to have two people with such connection to the ancient wards on hand. We planned all of the major restoration spells and stabilized the magic in the wings, but after that I left."

Hermione knew why. She tightened the grasp of her hands on his as they lay over her bellybutton. She remembered Karl and a small smile tingled on her lips.

"Does the castle still recognize you as Headmaster?"

He grunted, giving her the answer. "It is not my choice. Believe me, I tried to relinquish the attachment, but that pile of stone and mortar has a mind of its own."

"Clever one, that," she twinkled. "Is that why Karl calls you by your title, as well?"

"_Former_ title," Severus corrected. "I believe so. He _is_ a Hogwarts elf, so far," he added slowly, watching for her reaction. She seemed about to say something, but changed her mind.

She turned in his arms, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Her touch soothed him, and he closed his eyes in appreciation. One corner of her mouth tipped upward. "Are we ready?"

"Are you?" he asked her in return.

A sigh rolled off her lips. "As I'll ever be. Let's go," she said finally, and took his hand in hers. "Cancel the Disillusion, Severus. I've been hiding for a long time. I am not walking back into Hogwarts invisible."

He smiled and tapped them with his wand. His fingers wrapped tighter around hers, and they stepped through the wards.

"Showtime."

They met with Minerva, and a posh-looking Karl in his Sunday best, right outside the main door. Greetings exchanged, the older witch watched Hermione's eyes rise to the arch separating her from the castle.

"Let's do this," she said, directing a tentative but courageous smile at Severus. Karl stepped to the other side of her, but noticed the clasped hands of his mistress and master. No reason to reinforce her confidence, he thought. She was in good hands as it was.

They walked slowly, feeling, looking, experiencing this moment as it flowed, neither ignoring its significance nor lending it too much. "Living through it" would be the most apt description.

The quartet approached the main entrance, and Minerva raised her eyes to Hermione's in silent enquiry as they reached the Main Hall.

"Not yet," was all Hermione said, and the older witch nodded her understanding. Severus guided her as they circled the staircases, its portraits being unusually respectful and still, shocked into silence at the sight of Hermione Granger. It would not be the only occurrence of that particular reaction to her as the weekend progressed.

A long time passed, in more or less comfortable silence, as they reacquainted themselves with the sights and nooks of Hogwarts' main floor.

"Perhaps we should settle into our rooms, soon," Severus suggested, when he noticed Hermione's body leaning more into him. The physical as well as emotional strain for her was showing its face to his observant eye.

"Yes, we'd better," she agreed.

Minerva glanced at her a little worriedly. "I have given you the suite adjoining my personal chambers, in the Headmistress's wing. Severus, don't give me that look," she added briskly as he frowned. "There was no winning this one; not when the elves made up their minds."

"Blame it on the elves; how convenient," he drolled.

Karl cleared his throat and gave Severus a pointed look, but stayed silent.

Hermione smiled warmly. "I am sure it will be more than comfortable. Thank you, Minerva," she said.

* * *

><p>Their suite was indeed the epitome of all that was <em>Hogwarts <em>to Severus and Hermione. Their chambers were lavish yet simple, cosily comfortable, and not so spacious as to overpower their occupants. Hermione suspected that Karl had had a say in certain details that were eerily similar to their own home, but she chose to stay silent on the matter. It was sweet of him to think of her. She was growing quite fond of her elf already.

Walking over to the window as Severus finished inspecting the rooms, Hermione noticed the children returning from their trip to Hogsmeade. Hagrid's easily recognizable form walked slowly behind them, observant and kind as a shepherd watching over his flock.

"They're back," she commented. "I am strangely calm at the fact that we'll be dining with the children this evening," she noted, turning to Severus.

He sat in the armchair by the fireplace, and she nestled quickly in his lap. He welcomed her wholeheartedly.

"Just remember, if at _any_ moment you feel overwhelmed..."

"Shhh... it will be all right. I have you," she smiled as she leaned in to kiss him softly."And as if that were not all the protection I need in the world, I also have Karl."

"Mistress asked for me?" a voice rang out, and Hermione heaved a deep breath of utter surprise at the appearance of her elf.

"Karl, you scared the living daylights out of me!" she exclaimed.

His ears reddened and he bowed his head. "Karl is sorry. Karl is excited and eagerly awaits his mistress's call. Karl will..."

"Don't you _dare_ say you'll punish yourself," Hermione said sternly, and the elf nodded solemnly. "It's all right," she said, softening her voice. "I shall call for you before we go down to dinner. You can rest until then… or do whatever you like," she said smilingly, and he nodded, popping out of the room.

Severus chuckled. "Well, _that_ was a new experience," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"An elf popping into the room unannounced? I would hardly call that a new experience," she shot back.

He took her head in his hands. "That is not what's new. You remaining on my lap in the presence of others without realizing what a scandalous position it was, that is the new experience."

She smiled. "Scandalous. Why, Severus, your views are positively medieval!"

He pulled her into a kiss. "I am happy you're so relaxed. It's good to be back here, isn't it?" he murmured against her lips.

"It is," she sighed, leaning her forehead against his. "It is easier than I imagined it would be."

A knock sounded on the door. "Not a moment of peace," he growled his displeasure, but Hermione shooed it away with a grin as she rose to open the door. It could only be Minerva, she thought—and indeed, she was not mistaken.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," the Headmistress said as she walked in.

"You are," Severus retorted, but Hermione swatted him on his crossed arms.

"You are not interrupting. Don't listen to him," she joked lovingly.

"Well, it's good to see you settled in. Tea is served in my quarters."

They adjourned to a lovely little parlour never before used by either of the Headmasters. It was a roomy and comfortable space, with windows overlooking the slope leading down to the village. It was calming, pretty, and charming as a button. Hermione giggled. No wonder neither Albus nor Severus used this room much.

"I saw Hagrid, earlier," Hermione said as they took their seats. "I wish he could join us for tea."

"Well, isn't it fortunate then, that I invited him to do just that?" Minerva smirked over the rim of her tea cup.

Hermione's smile was dazzling. A moment later there was a familiar heavy knock on the door.

"Will you?" Minerva asked of the young witch, and she jumped from her seat eagerly.

Severus watched her go, having been informed earlier of the plan. He knew Hermione adored the giant and would feel safe with him, even if his presence came as a surprise.

The reunion at the door was nothing short of emotional. Hermione jerked the door open with a youthful exuberance Severus rarely saw in her nowadays, and threw herself into Hagrid's waiting arms.

"Oh! How I missed you," she sniffled into the heavy tweed of Hagrid's vest, as his large hand caressed her back.

"How are you, little one? Professor here taking good care of you?" he looked into the room at Severus, who nodded his greeting.

Hermione fairly beamed. "The best. Come," she said, taking the big man's two fingers in her hand. "There are cherry cupcakes, and I know how you love those!" She led him inside the room.

Hagrid was the only other Hogwarts person she'd allowed back into her life. After all, he was the teacher she'd always been closest to, and their meetings, although not frequent, always left her with a great sense of comfort.

"Rubeus, how have you been?" Severus asked, genuinely interested. He'd learned to value this man's friendship long before it was put to the greatest test, during his reign as Headmaster. Without Hagrid, it would have been an almost unachievable task.

All of them relaxed and exchanged pleasant memories and tales of their past and current doings, and an hour-and-a-quarter slipped away quite unnoticed.

"I'd better get going," Hagrid said, rising from the couch. "I need to check on the eggs and be back in time for dinner. I wouldn't want to miss it," he said, looking at Hermione fondly.

"They know, don't they?"

"The children?" Hagrid asked. "It spread like wildfire, the news that you're here." At her alarmed look, he smiled. "Don't worry. You will be surprised at how different things are here nowadays. Good day, Professor—see you later. Headmistress, thank you for the tea!"

It was but a few moments after the door closed behind him that Minerva's uneasy quaver broke the silence.

"Eggs? _What _eggs? Oh, Hagrid..." And she slumped into her chair in a most unladylike fashion, quite efficiently breaking the tension in the room.

They retreated to their chambers to change for dinner.

Severus turned as he heard Hermione enter, her eyes downcast as she came through the door of the adjoining bathroom. She had donned a simple yet sophisticated deep red blouse over a pencil skirt, her toes hidden underneath the tips of her matching burgundy kitten heels.

"You look wonderful," she breathed, observing his black-and-white ensemble of the usual shirt, vest and trousers. Her man was one of simple tastes in dress, and she valued his effort to dress muggle to complement her.

His eyes washed over her and she blushed, feeling slightly warmer than a moment before. He walked towards her, soundlessly and predator-like as a cat jealously approaching her bowl of milk. His arms pulled her into him, and, elegant nose ensconced in her hair, he took a deep breath. She had left it down, free and beautiful as always.

"I don't hold a candle to you. I am sure you could stop traffic, looking like that," he said huskily as he pulled away to meet her gaze.

"Too much? But I hardly tried!" she huffed.

Severus gave a humorously evil laugh as she tried to free herself from his embrace with the obvious idea of changing clothes, _yet again._ "No, not too much. You look perfect. _You _could stop traffic dressed in rags," he explained himself.

She smiled indulgently. "Sweet talker."

"Don't let it get out," he answered in a low voice.

"Promise. I love that this side of you is all mine," she said, and brushed her lips over his. Steeling herself, she knew the moment had come.

"Karl?" she called, and the elf popped into the room.

"Mistress called?"

"Will I ever get used to his calling me that?" she asked Severus as she lookedover her shoulder.

He shrugged.

"Mistress is displeased?" Karl's lip quivered.

"No, no, everything is all right," she turned back to the elf, reassuring him. "Karl, we are going down to dinner. I need your escort," she said honestly.

He walked over to her and took her hand in his, leaving the other side for Severus. "Karl is honoured to escort his mistress to the Great Hall."

Hermione snuck her arm into the crook of Severus's proffered elbow, and together they braved the hallways of Hogwarts. A peculiar sight they perhaps were, but the presence of the small elf holding her hand deducted nothing from the harmonious vision of power and connection the witch and wizard projected as they strode down the staircase to the massive door.

Minerva noticed them and lifted her eyes from the circular teacher's table in the middle of the Great Hall. Gone were the strict rows of benches and desks. They had been replaced by a myriad of smaller tables, each with no more than six place settings, arranged democratically around the vast space while leaving the centre of the hall for the teachers alone. It was Minerva's idea, and the results were visible in the daily communication amongst the different houses, as well as the general level of relaxation amongst the students. Encouraged to socialize with others outside their own house, students embraced this new floor plan with great joy. A new era had come to Hogwarts.

As soon as the first student craned his head towards the door, a silence washed over the usually loud and chatty setting. In the space of a heartbeat, all heads turned to the entering small group.

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her hands pressed more firmly into the palms of both the powerful wizard and the elf flanking her.

Severus waited for her to step before he fell into her rhythm; the elf mirrored him in this.

With a measured pace they began their walk into the hall, and the silence enveloping them was broken by the sound of a chair scraping briefly across the stone floor. A moment later the sound was duplicated, and then in an almost practiced move the students rose as one, standing to welcome and honour the great heroine and her return home.

Hermione looked about and saw gentle smiles on wide, innocent faces—and some familiar ones—and when the first clap broke through, starting the steady downpour of applause, she leaned her body into Severus, and tears escaped her eyes.

He let go of her hand to accept her slump, his arm now holding her firmly close to his hip as they walked as one body, their pace easy, calm. Karl followed them with pride and fierce protection shining in his eyes.

"Welcome home, my love," Severus whispered into her ear. She nodded, her eyes meeting his, the tears slowly abating.

"It's good to be home," she answered softly. They had reached the teachers' table. She nodded to the students, slipping her hand from Karl's to press it upon her heart. Her gesture was greeted by even more thunderous applause. When it began to fade, she looked at Karl, and asked in a small voice, "You will be near me?"

He bowed, his little forehead touching the floor. "For as long as Mistress needs me," he answered gravely.

"I will call you when I need you next. But be close. I feel safe with you close by," she said warmly, and the elf's eyes watered with love.

"My mistress's wish is my command," he said, and popped out of sight.

"He is falling in love with you," Severus commented seriously as she gazed at him. He was so proud of her, his brave Gryffindor, his wonderful warrior.

"I'm just so loveable," she joked, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest.

"That you are," he replied, his voice cracking as he tried to sound equally flippant. He pulled out a chair for her, then settled beside her.

Warm greetings were exchanged, and more than one eyebrow lifted at the final proof of familiarity and ease previously unnoticed in the behaviour between their former colleague and student. It was one thing to follow the romantic story of their love when it first broke in the Prophet, but a completely different matter to witness it first-hand.

There was really only one topic of conversation among the student body as hushed whispers threaded through the hall.

At one point during the dinner, as she observed their setting, Hermione said to Severus, "There is no altar anymore…just a table. I like it better this way." He nodded his agreement.

"Things have been vastly improving since Minerva took charge," he replied, and the lady in question heard him across the table.

"Do I hear compliments over there, Severus?" Minerva joked.

"It has been known to happen," he answered, in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

If their other dinner companions noticed the lack of true indifference, they were wise not to comment on it.

"It is great to have you back, Miss Granger," Hooch nodded from two seats away. "Tell me, what do you do now?"

An uncomfortable silence fell about the table as Severus seethed at the lack of tact from his former colleague. Rolanda rolled her eyes. "Oh bugger off, the lot of you. I am not tiptoeing around the girl! She is healthy, thank Merlin, she is with us, and obviously very much alive and well. We all know; she knows we know, so can we move on now!"

To everyone's surprise, Hermione laughed. She laughed and it grew until the sound if it chased the grey cloud threatening to cover the comfortable atmosphere. Brushing away the happy tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, she addressed Hooch.

"Thank you, Professor. I am so relieved someone finally had the guts to speak up," she began. "I do a lot of different things. I read, play the happy little housewife to Severus, and shamelessly steal Teddy Lupin from his mother much too often. We live quite near the Lupins, I'm not sure you know. Anyway, I have been living the simple life, and I am enjoying it. As you said, I am alive and well and my strength is more or less back to normal. It's a relief. And I have this man to thank for everything; he really takes the best care of me." Love shone in her eyes as she looked at Severus.

"Well, if that pink tinge in his cheeks is any indicator, you are taking rather good care of him, as well," Hooch said, and if looks could kill, she would have dropped dead instantly from Severus's stare.

Opposite to his attempt, it only made her chuckle. "Oh, don't give me that look, Snape. You've never looked better in your life, and I've known you since you came to Hogwarts."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Rolanda, despite your horrible lack of tact, I must agree with your last statement," he declared, making the woman almost choke on her butterbeer.

Hermione smiled and took his hand in hers under the table.

The focus of conversation turned back to her, and she was happy to answer the numerous questions about their home and life in Muggle London. After all, what they most wanted to know was if she were happy, if _they_ were happy, and with her relaxed posture and chatty replies, they were convinced it was so. With vaguely concealed curiosity they observed the silent dialogue between the infamous couple, seeing a very different side of Severus Snape as the evening progressed. It was a much later hour than usual when the professors decided to leave their table. With warm goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows they parted in the main hallway without any rush. The end of the school year was upon them, and tomorrow was Sunday, granting the overtaxed teacher a moment of respite.

"Take me to our chambers, Severus," she whispered, turning in his arms as they waved Hagrid off to his hut, leaving the couple blissfully alone at the main entrance."I'm so tired, and I want to lie in your arms until midday tomorrow. And then you will take me to Hogsmeade. I've the greatest craving for Rosmerta's butterbeer."

"As my mistress commands," he spoke in a candid imitation of Karl, eliciting a giggle from her lips. "Are you all right?"

She nodded with a smile. "I was so worried, but the evening was really enjoyable."

"I'm glad to hear that," he rasped. "Now, what was it you said about our chambers? My tolerance for the general public is wearing thin."

She caressed his cheek. "I am proud of you, my beautifully reserved protector. You tolerated the mob admirably this evening."

"All in a day's work," he answered, again tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.

They found their chamber warm and inviting, and fell asleep in each other's' arms, enjoying fully their respite and peace.

The little elf popped soundlessly into their bedchamber to stoke the flames, and with a proud glance at his mistress and her mate, happily left a moment after.

Hogwarts had succeeded in its greatest task. Hermione Granger was happy and safe.


	35. In silence

**UNTOUCHED**

**A story by Anette S**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Jo is the boss here; I, a faithful subject, am here only to entertain you.

**A/N:** Thank you for your continuing support of this story. My wonderful beta is dancesabove. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34<strong>

**In silence**

It was indeed very late in the evening when Hermione and Severus finally managed to say all the goodbyes and see-you-again's to all their respected Hogwarts friends—to call them merely "staff" would be plain wrong. Having spent most of the day in Hogsmeade, she was ready to fall face-down on the bed when she finally reached it, and Severus was feeling the strains of their busy weekend schedule as well. With one last hug from Minerva, they walked outside of apparition boundaries, and with one loud POP, found themselves back home.

She slumped in his arms, and for a moment he became worried, only to be reassured by her surprisingly energetic chuckle.

"I am falling off my feet, but what a weekend that was!" she exclaimed, her voice not hiding the happiness their rendezvous with Hogwarts had brought her.

"I agree wholeheartedly," he answered, his arms already making room to accommodate her most welcome intrusion.

"Severus?" she spoke softly, her voice betraying a playfulness he'd learned to associate with their most private moments.

"Yes, my love?" His voice was no more than a rasp, sending tingles down her spine. Their eyes met. A look reserved only for her finally broke through his carefully constructed boundaries.

"Now,_that's_ what I've been waiting for, all weekend," she said, her fingers sneaking up his chest and over his collarbone until they found their target in the roots of his hair. "That look. You only ever look at me like that when we are completely alone, did you know that?"

He knew, obviously, but teased her by claiming otherwise.

"I don't believe you, but I'll let you get away with it _this_ time," she said, pulling him down and claiming his lips.

"Again," he whispered as they parted, and she dutifully obliged him, her lips forming a smile before they met his. She could kiss him forever, and it seemed that he was quite happy with the prospect, if one could judge by the soft murmurs that escaped him.

"I thought I heard you expressing tiredness," he said after a while, brow furrowed in mock puzzlement.

She raised her eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"

"Silly creature," was his only answer, as he pulled her back into a kiss that demanded all of her, showing her clearly that he was far from complaining. "I just wanted to suggest…" he paused when her lips found the hollow of his throat, "to... _Lord,_ Hermione..." he stuttered as she continued with her pursuit, hiding a proud smile behind his ear. There was something to be said for accomplishing the feat of rendering Severus Snape speechless.

"You were saying?"

"Oh, bugger this," he gave up. Pulling her deeply into his chest, he turned on the spot, effectively apparating them into the bedroom.

"Oh, _that_ is what you wanted to suggest," she teased him, as she noticed their changed surroundings.

"You make a man go from words to deeds at an alarming speed," he answered her, his fingers already finding the edge of her shirt. There was the slightest pause in his actions, but she felt it, and encouraged him with a smile and the continuation of her previous mischievous deeds.

With slow, deliberate movements, they freed themselves of most of their garments, staying clothed only enough to avoid the temptation to act on something she—and he—was not yet ready to try.

The sight of Hermione lying on top of _their_ covers on _their_ bed in _their _house would never become old to him, he thought, as he slid over her and placed a kiss on a carefully selected spot in the valley of her breasts.

She sighed, her back arching slightly in welcome. The thought of being the luckiest woman in the world crossed her mind again as his lips followed a leisurely path over her soft breasts, the trail of wetness left after their amorous caress the perfect companion to his warm breath. For months now she'd knownthe privilege of being thoroughly kissed and loved by this man, and she knew it would take a lifetime to get her fill of him.

He worshiped her slowly, taking his time to observe the way her nipples changed colour slightly as her arousal grew. Her body was indeed a work of magic, for the more he got to know it, the more he was made a witness to all its fine variations. It left him breathless.

"You are so beautiful," Severus murmured as he slowly pulled her left nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

Her hand slipped over his shoulder and up into his hair, the soft but deliberate pressure assuring him of the rightness of his actions. Sighs carrying his name floated off her lips as he applied himself to a very thorough adoration of her tender globes.

It was a very long time until they finally succumbed to sleep, their by-now completely nude bodies fitting perfectly into each other's embrace.

* * *

><p>Morning found them equally undressed—and completely at ease with the fact. Hermione woke first, thanking the deities that they'd managed to kick away the sheet that had covered them sometime during the night.<p>

They'd rolled apart, although not much; the warm weather made this a natural response. As a result, his body lay as if offered up to her for complete enjoyment and undisturbed exploration. Severus slept like a child, showing no signs of waking any time soon.

It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked before—for she had, many times now—but the novel allure of observing him while he was unaware of it was quite irresistible.

His eyelashes were quite long; a fact one could overlook when he was awake, for his eyes carried a great power—one that sometimes overshadowed his other features. They brushed the borders of his cheeks, their insubordinate curves gracefully tickling the sensitive skin.

His cheekbones betrayed his aristocratic nature, and the nose that had borne one-too-many blows carried itself with the dignified grace of a survivor.

His lips... Hermione smiled. Those lips could do anything to her. They spoke to her in her quiet moments, brought her back into this world when she seemed to have been lost in another realm. They caressed her and kissed her and made her feel whole, loved, worshiped. She wanted to claim those lips for herself, and ban them to ever speak and touch another, but she found satisfaction in knowing that some of their actions would forever be reserved only for her.

There was a slight tinge of blue in the spot when the skin strained over his Adam's apple, indicating a vein. A vein carrying the blood that some of the people in their past would have called impure.

Severus's collarbones protruded slightly, but less so than in the early days she'd been privy to the sight. Thankfully, as her recovery and their relationship brought a peace into his life, he was finally able to live life unworried as to whether he would be alive to eat his next supper.

The smattering of hair across his chest covered some of his lesser scars, but she knew they were there. She'd felt them puckering under her fingertips, when he'd allowed her to explore him at her leisure. He wasn't trying to hide them, nor was he ashamed of their existence. There was only one he wished to take away: the one on his forearm.

But the past could never be undone. The arm bearing the mark lay curled under his head, the black ink barely showing from under his hair. Black on black, and she could not hate one anymore she could hate the other. The black of the ink was simply that—ink. She hated what it represented, but the image had long ago stopped bothering her. It was, like everything else, simply a part of him.

Slowly, as if making sure not to be caught, Hermione's eyes drifted lower, over his hips and onto his manhood. It was strange how much power it held, how much fear and trepidation it caused her to feel; but at the same time there was a very intimate vulnerability about this part of him. Although she knew she was not ready to do more than look, she also somehow knew that she would never be hurt by it.

She'd never looked, _really _looked at a man's penis before she had been forced to do unspeakable acts with men who didn't deserve to be called men, even if they did share an organ with other variations of their kind. Severus had hesitated every time she tried to make his body the object of _her_ attention during their night-time intimacies, and he'd been very reluctant to show himself to her without clothes. This was the first time she'd spent more than a few seconds of her own choosing focused on a man's most private parts, and she didn't wish to spend more now. It felt like she was violating his choice doing this, gazing at him without him knowing. Her gaze fell lower and rested on his thighs, the strong legs that carried him through dark times showing signs of battle equal to those on his chest.

A particularly long cut marred his left thigh, stretching around the muscle and finishing at his hip. It was suspiciously similar to the scar she carried over her ribs, and she shuddered to think that it was caused by the same curse. His knee lay over hers, bent a little in repose, the contact of skin a welcome relief even in this hot weather. It was a small touch, just to know he was there, that _she_ was there for him.

Hermione was loath to leave him, but her own body demanded her attention, making her stand up and quietly walk into the bathroom.

Severus waited to hear the doors closing before he opened his eyes. Of course he had been awake. A seasoned spy, a man sleeping with one eye open for twenty long years, could not but sense the shift in her breathing from the moment she woke.

He knew she was curious about his body, but he lacked the strength in his half-awakened state to lie there and show himself to her, to give her time for her exploration. There were still events, things he held from her, experience she knew not how to explain, and he knew she'd ask the questions, were he awake to answer them.

Luckily she hadn't noticed that he wasn't sleeping just now, thus offering him the perfect moment to appease her curiosity without bearing too much before he was ready to. He had no qualms with showing himself to her, but the accompanying actions were still a place of dispute in his own mind. He feared the moment she would be ready to accept his body completely, and he knew he'd have to tell her about his own experiences before that happened. He just hoped he could find a way that would not break them both anew.

With a lazy roll onto his stomach, he decided that it was still much too early to get out of bed. He decided to play the role of the waking lover after she returned from the bathroom. The shower was running, and he was sorely tempted to join her, but he knew the alternative could be much more pleasurable.

Hermione turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel and then hastily drying her hair with another one. In a well-practiced move of her hands, she had it wrapped and secured. Sighing inwardly at her forgetfulness to take her underwear with her, she carefully turned the knob and opened the connecting door.

The sight of his deliciously naked bum greeted her, and she took a deep breath, then let out an even longer sigh as she further contemplated his beauty.

"And he's all mine," she said softly, a smile dancing on her lips.

Changing her initial plan, she walked back to the bed, dropping her towels and almost making him blow his cover at the sight of her body, still damp and flushed from the refreshing shower. Struggling to control his breathing, he remained still.

She walked behind him and, kneeling carefully on the bed, sneaked over him until she was close enough to meld every possible inch of her skin to his. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers roaming the coarse hair on the chest she'd admired not long ago, and leaned her lips close to his ear.

"I know you're awake," she whispered, screaming in glee as he grabbed her arms and turned them both around with the seamless skill of a panther. He towered over her, his arms supporting his weight as they both tried to steady their breaths.

"What gave me away?" he asked, a playful smile on his face.

"Nothing," she answered. "But I knew there was no possible way you could not have heard the shower running. I do _know _you, you know," she spoke, the word play making her chuckle.

So she still hadn't realised he'd been awake long before. Good.

Severus eased lower, covering Hermione's body with his own. "Good morning, my love," he said softly, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.

"Good morning, my love," she echoed, pulling him down for a kiss. It was indeed a wonderful morning.


End file.
